Favors
by MDGeistMD02
Summary: A decorated Naval Officer, a bookish scribe, an ostracized ex-Overseer, a streetwise Morlish girl, a brutal thug, a mysterious Tyvian sharpshooter, a brilliant female doctor; they are the Undertakers, aiding the desperate when others cannot. For their services they ask one thing: a single Favor. (OC-story: possible pairings. Rated M for violence, some gore, slight adult situations)
1. Prologue

**A/N:**** Yep, started another **_**Dishonored**_** fic. This one, however, is almost entirely OC driven.**

**For those following my other story, An Assassin's Tale, have no fear - I do intend to continue with that fic. However, I promised a friend of mine that I would start publishing this first chap by February 1****st****, and I didn't want to break my word to her. :)**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own **_**Dishonored**_** or any of the canon characters and ideas - wish I did, but all I own are my original OCs and ideas.**

* * *

**Favors**

**Prologue**

* * *

_**The Fourth Day of the First Month, the Month of Earth, 1836**_

_**A Year before the death of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin…**_

_**The Tailors' District**_

…

…

The Clocktower of Dunwall sounded the last of its twelve chimes of midnight.

Raucous laughter spilled forth from the _Crooked Road_, a pub renowned both as an establishment of ill repute and for its staggering popularity amongst the locals. The latter two facts were not mutually exclusive.

Usually the singing and gaiety inside continued with neither notice nor concern for the late hour. As the new day began, however, the front door of the alehouse suddenly burst open. A large, muscular, blond man strode out into the cool night air, a struggling figure dressed in bright yellow and white slung over his shoulder.

"No!" the smaller figure cried out, kicking her legs in frustration. "Put me down! Put me down!"

The large man harrumphed as his victim continued her fruitless resistance.

"You know the rules, Netty my dear," he said, concern lacking in his voice. "I can't be losing the trust of the patrons, now can I?"

The man stopped near the edge of the short stone veranda at the pub's entrance.

"Wh-what are you doing?" the girl asked, her worry evident. She tried to turn her head to see what her assailant was planning.

He began swaying the girl back and forth, building up momentum.

"Oh no, Iver! Doooon't!" Realization dawned a moment before he flung her out onto the hard cobblestone street. She landed painfully, bruising her arms, elbows, and legs.

The large man straightened his thin mustache as he scowled down at her.

"Nobody steals from my customers, you got that, Netty?" he said with a cruel smirk, then jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Nobody but me, that is."

He giggled at his own jest and turned to go, but the girl called out after him.

"You've done it now, Iver," she threatened as she climbed gingerly to her feet. "Maybe I should go to a Watchman and let him know what goes on here?"

The pub owner turned back to her.

"Oh, you didn't think I knew what you had going on upstairs, eh?" Her eyes glanced quickly at the illuminated windows of the second floor. She smiled confidently as her gaze returned to him. "I'd like to see you explain _that_ perversion to your beloved clientele once the word is out!"

"You little trollop!" he snarled, his large hands clenching into fists. "Be off with you!"

She backpedaled until she bumped into a metal streetlamp.

"I'm not afraid of you, Iver!" she taunted him. "None of the girls are! If we were all to leave, you'd see! Your business would fall off right quick!"

With a growl he advanced toward the much smaller woman. Uttering a quick yelp, she spun on her heel and dashed past the lamppost then continued onto a side street.

The _**-clack- -clack- -clack-**_ of her heels upon the stonework echoed down the empty corridor of tightly packed boarding houses. After nearly twisting her ankle twice along the uneven ground, she slowed and then finally braced herself against a dark grey building. She tried to catch her breath while simultaneously listening for signs of pursuit. Hearing nothing - she was certain Iver wouldn't venture far from his precious pub for the likes of her - she turned and glumly began making her way towards the far end of the thin street.

"I didn't do it. I honestly didn't take the pouch."

Passing by a shop, she paused to glance at her reflection in the dusty glass window. She grimaced at what she saw. Her long blonde hair had come undone and sat tangled above her shoulders. Dirt, no doubt from her tumble in the street, had smeared across her left cheek. Worse, her ensemble was a mess.

Her hose were ripped in two places, one of which had a smatter of blood where she scraped her knee. Her bright yellow and white corset, of which she had been particularly proud, had smudges on the side. The lace on one of her finger loop gloves was torn at the seam. Worse, her favorite bonnet was missing, no doubt left at the _Crooked Road_.

"Ah, Etiennette girl," she said with a slight shake of her head. "Look at the mess you're in now." She sighed deeply. "How are you going to nab a gent for the night like this, mm? May have to cut your price in half to but four coins."

Etiennette Mersell, Netty to those who knew her here, had been a courtesan in the Tailors' District for nearly six months. She'd hoped to get taken in by one of the brothels – the _Duke and Dancer Alehouse_, the _Golden Cat_, or even the _Smoke Street Dice Hall_. It wasn't much to look forward to, but there would at least be a madame and a better chance for a roof over her head. The best she'd managed so far was a regular spot at the _Crooked Road_ pub.

As she started brushing her fingers through her hair to straighten it, she spied a metal washbasin attached to a sidewall of a nearby tenement building. Maybe it was in working order?

She went over and tested the taps. The left one, for hot water, popped off in her hand, but the right seemed to be functioning properly.

"Alright then," she said with a hint of a smile. "We'll fix us up, all proper."

She removed her lace gloves, tucked them down the front of her corset, and then cupped her hands under the running water. She splashed the cold liquid onto her face and gave herself a light scrubbing mindful of the shadow around her eyes so that it didn't run.

"Iver'll want an apology no doubt," she mused quietly to herself. "I'll give him a few days. Hopefully he'll see it right. I didn't take that dandy's money pouch after all."

The fop, who wasn't one of the pub's regulars, had lost his coin at cards and sought, for some odd reason, to blame her. He accused her and demanded she return his money. Unfortunately, she had just begun trolling the pub and hadn't made any coin for herself yet. The fool's desperate plan of shifting the blame to her for his own folly ruined her night.

"But we won't be needing some drunken sod to keep us warm during the dark hours," she went on as she scrubbed her arms, removing some of the stench of stale cigarettes and cheap ale that had clung to her from the barroom of the _Crooked Road_.

She moved back to glance at the reflection in the dirty window again.

"Hah! Now there we have it! Looking better already."

She did have to admit that she was quite attractive with dazzling green eyes, golden locks, and a small but curvaceous figure. Her best feature, however, was her skin. Alabaster in hue, the creamy color hinted at innocence, even though she definitely was not, and her skin seemed to exude a slight glow, as if she was somehow illuminated from the inside. She'd also been fortunate not to have gotten any deep or lasting scars; it wouldn't help her to be so permanently marred.

"But this knee stills needs a thorough washing," she groused.

She glanced around for a pot or bowl; it'd be better than just splashing water on it from her cupped hands. She finally spotted four or five empty glass bottles sitting near the far end of the street.

"We'll be better than before, right quick," she whispered. "Be going again for my usual eight coin." She paused a moment. "No, I'll think it'll be ten this week. Yes, Miss Etiennette's favors are worth a full ten of coin, you lucky gents." She stifled a light chuckle as she went to the discarded glassware.

She had just reached her destination when a low crackling sound emanated from behind the building drawing her attention. She blinked in surprise.

"Could it be…?"

She eased carefully past the glass bottles and tucked in close to the building's edge. The crackling stopped as she peered around the corner.

"It is," she whispered in awe.

There, outlined by a streetlight about fifty feet away on one of the main thoroughfares was a rail car, one of the small compact ones, painted black and often used by the rich or the aristocracy. The crackling sound she'd heard must have been the car's metal wheels sparking as it ran along the metal rails. Though equipped with front spotlights, neither of the lamps were lit; rather the only illumination to be seen came from the interior of the vehicle.

For a moment she thought the vehicle had broken down as it sat unmoving close to the garbage strewn entrance of a side-alley. After all, rail cars rarely stopped in this part of the city.

Suddenly the right-side door opened, and a thin man stepped out. Another man, shorter and stockier, was inside the cab of the vehicle and offered the end of a large burlap sack to the first. Together they managed to work the large bundle out and away from the vehicle, finally laying it at the alley's entrance. Etiennette noticed a cloth banner lining the inside of the rail car's door: _a blue rose on a silver field_.

As she studied the odd crest, a third figure emerged from the vehicle, taller than either of the first two. She held her breath as she spotted him with his precisely cut heavy black jacket, black pants, black knee-high military boots, and a black scabbard sheathing a sabre. A crescent symbol with a trident passing through was embroidered on his sleeves. She knew the symbol well: the man was a member of the feared Warfare Overseers, a militant faction within the Abbey of the Everyman. She had seen Overseers before, but this one was dressed differently.

Whereas the embroidery she'd seen on the sleeves of the Overseers' uniforms were universally gold, it was red on this particular Overseer's jacket. Also, if she remembered correctly, the uniforms of the faction were dark blue, not black. Finally, there was the metallic mask he wore. Usually a brilliant gold trimmed with black, this individual's mask was deepest ebony, with the trim around the eyes and mouth of a bloody crimson color, lending him a nightmarish appearance.

"Is it almost done, Styverson?" the Dark Overseer inquired, his voice slightly muffled behind his mask. "The drug will be wearing off soon."

"Almost," the shorter man replied with a nod. "Though I don't see why we had to drug her."

"Because, you fool, had we bound her, there would have been evidence on her wrists and ankles." The black-clothed figure moved around the rail car. "This needs to appear as a simple murder during a robbery. Nothing more."

"Why didn't we just kill her at the factory?" the short man, apparently named Styverson, asked under his breath as his thin helper untied the burlap sack and pulled it away to reveal the slowly moving form of a young woman.

"By the Void," Etiennette muttered as she watched from her concealed position. "They couldn't possibly be planning to…?"

The Dark Overseer strode confidently past the others and stood over the young woman who moaned lightly.

"You d-don't need to do this. P-please, I-I'm begging…" She shook her head slowly and was trying to reach up at him.

"No need to beg anymore, fool," the Dark Overseer said coldly. He drew his sabre, looked down at his helpless prey, and struck without hesitation.

The young woman's body tensed as the sword plunged into her chest. She gurgled in agony as her attacker slowly twisted the blade back and forth, then finally after long terrible moments her form relaxed as life left her.

"Th-they killed her," the streetwalker whispered in horror. "J-just like that. Without mercy." She eased back into the shadows, away from the horrid scene. Her heart pounding, she moved slowly, as if in a trance, too stunned to think properly.

She remembered the row of empty glass bottles the moment she backed into them. They fell over, rolling and clattering onto the hard cobblestones behind her.

"What was that?" the Dark Overseer asked as he and the two men with him glanced toward her.

"Spies!" uttered the thin man, who had until this moment remained silent. He pointed at Etiennette's location.

"Kill them!" the black-masked murderer ordered, gesturing his sword in her direction. "Lest all of it be undone!"

The short, stocky man nodded and rapped his companion on the arm.

"Give them the shiv!" he barked as he pulled a long knife hidden in his boot. The thin man drew a similar blade from a sheath on his belt.

The streetwalker's eyes widened in dread as they began approaching her position with grim purpose. She turned and began to run, nearly tripping on the glass bottles she'd knocked over. Heeled boots were not designed for running along cobblestone paths she determined quickly, but it was the second time tonight she'd been forced to do so.

Unlike the first time with Iver in pursuit, the villains behind her now wouldn't give up the chase so easily. They'd be resolute in keeping their secret, and obviously kill anyone who got in their way. Etiennette ran for her very life. She dared not glance back as any distraction could cause her to lose her footing and then she'd be at their mercy. The pounding of her heart increased as she heard the rapid footfalls of her pursuers who were quickly closing the distance with her. She prayed she would be able to get to safety in time…

* * *

**A/N: **

**For those who aren't sure, I'm using the in-game Timeline revealed in **_**Dishonored: The Dunwall Archives**_** and expanded upon on the ****Dishonored Wiki****.**


	2. Chapter 1: Desperate Times

**A/N: ****As stated before, there won't be canon characters much in this fic, just OCs. To me, the city of Dunwall IS the best character from the game, so if you look at it that way, I guess this story does feature a canon character after all.**

**On to the tale…**

* * *

**Favors**

**Chapter 1**

**Desperate Times**

* * *

_**The Twenty-fifth Day of the Third Month, the Month of Nets, 1837**_

_**The Tailors' District**_

_**16 months later…**_

…

…

_Desperation_.

It was a sign of the times. The Rat Plague spread unchecked. Weepers roamed the abandoned sections of the city. Gangs ruled the dark alleys. Worst of all, the beloved Empress Jessamine Kaldwin had been assassinated over two months ago by her Royal Protector.

The old woman slowly making her way along the side-street practically exuded such desperation as she glanced furtively about the gloomy area. She was a small thing, perhaps in her mid-sixties, dressed in faded brown clothing. Strands of grayish hair poked out from under a small headscarf, and a look of uncertainty dominated her features.

She was obviously frightened; Bleetmore Way was dangerous after all - during the day an unsafe side-street, at night a place best avoided altogether. Rightly earning its nickname, _Bleedmore_, Bleetmore Way was a place that the Watch shunned, where criminals flourished, and the desperate came only when they needed to. For her part, the old woman seemed to fit well into the latter category.

It was the middle of the day, and from her position on the north side of the quiet path, Etiennette Mersell watched the old woman make her way past some broken barrels. She was examining the few signs that hung above some of the doors facing the weed-infested alleyway. She checked a red slip of paper clutched tight in her bony, weathered hand, then looked up at the signs again.

The courtesan stood, straightened her clothes, then opened a yellow and white parasol. Though out of place in such a grey part of the city, her bright umbrella coordinated well with her corset, bonnet, and lace finger gloves. With a measured pace that spoke of confidence, she strode toward the older woman. So distracted was the new arrival, she didn't notice the girl approach until she was practically on top of her.

"Hello, my love," the pretty blonde girl said in greeting. "What's your pleasure then?"

The elderly lady blinked in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Well now, one doesn't just wander down these backways unless they're looking for something." The girl raised a questioning eyebrow. "You looking for something interesting?"

"Um, well, yes," the woman confirmed with some slight hesitation. "I am."

"Ah!" The attractive blonde grinned. "Looks like you found something interesting then, didn't you?" She tilted her shoulders back a bit to show off her 'wares'.

"I don't understand."

"Why me, of course, silly!" Etiennette chuckled lightly. "I prefer the gents myself, but a girl's got to earn her coin somehow you know. Times are lean hereabouts."

The old woman's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Don't you worry none, my love," the pretty girl continued as she laid a gloved hand upon the woman's shoulder. "I'll treat you right anyhow. Long as you got the coin to pay me for my time, that is."

She leaned in close to the old woman.

"You do have some coin, don't you?"

"I, what… no!" The woman turned and put a hand to her side where a stuffed pouch was hanging from her belt, reassuring herself that the prostitute hadn't tried to pick her pocket.

Her target distracted, Etiennette took the opportunity to glance at the exposed slip of paper still clutched in the woman's hand. She noted an address for this very block and a familiar symbol of a triangle within a larger inverted triangle stamped on the left corner. She quickly leaned back as the old woman faced her again.

"How dare you?" the woman groused with a look of disgust. "Be off with you!"

"Here now, this is my block, don't you know." The girl quickly folded up her parasol and soundly rapped the tip twice on the stone path. "You're wasting my time if you don't want my favors."

"I told you to be off, unless you want me calling the Watch!"

The girl threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, that's a good one," she said, fixing her gaze on the woman again. "Don't you know the Watch never comes 'round these parts? Not worth their time."

The old woman shook with frustration, not knowing what to say.

"Is there a problem?" called a voice from in front of one of the shops.

The two women turned toward this new interruption. Down a short flight of stairs, standing in a doorway holding a besom, was a man in his early thirties, close-shaven, with his dark hair parted neatly. Though dressed in simple attire - a white button-down shirt, brown slacks, and a brown vest - he held himself with composure, a look of calm authority on his face.

"I… well, I…" the woman stammered.

The man smiled knowingly.

"I believe this is what you're looking for," he said as he indicated a small symbol carved into the wood framing the door to the shop. The symbol showed a small triangle within a larger inverted triangle.

The woman's face lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"Why, yes! Yes indeed!" She turned back to the young girl standing next to her. "You're with him then?"

"Go on now," the girl grinned. "He'll fix you up, right quick."

A look of relief crossed the elderly woman's face and then she headed down the stairs. The man held the door open for her as she entered the small shop. Once she crossed the threshold, he glanced back into the alley and gave a slight nod to the yellow-and-white-attired girl still standing there.

The girl curtsied with a smile. She reopened her parasol which she had used to signal him by double tapping it on the ground moments earlier. She then strolled back to her spot and lounged against the wooden bench that was her regular perch from where she kept careful vigil up either side of Bleetmore Way.

Etiennette recognized the desperation so evident in the old woman's face. She'd had that same desperation over fifteen months ago after she'd barely managed to escape her pursuers. She'd hid then, frightened and alone, not knowing who to trust, who to turn to. Then they came, the men who were her patrons now. They took her from that frightful existence and gave her a chance. Gave her hope.

She'd sworn loyalty to them as they helped her back then and took away her problems, just as she knew they'd take away whatever problems the elderly lady had. That was after all, what they did best.

* * *

"We have a visitor, Mr. Tuddleston," the dark-haired man announced as he placed the worn besom to the side of the entryway. He indicated for the elderly lady to head to the counter. As she did so, he quickly turned the deadbolt on the door and drew down the shade, ensuring their privacy.

"Ah, yes, yes," came a quick response from behind the counter. "Do come in, do come in. Well now. I'm Albert Tuddleston, manager of this quaint establishment. Have a seat, have a seat, and pray tell us, in what way we may be of assistance to you?"

To say that the individual standing in the service area was a large man would be an understatement; a great rotund fellow, Tuddleston was 5'9 in height, but nearly five feet around the middle. Clean-shaven, he had brownish-red hair and hazel eyes that sparkled with an odd mixture of intelligence and levity.

The woman glanced over at him, smiled in appreciation, then sat in a nearby chair before speaking.

"I need…" she began, hesitated for a moment, then started over. "I need help. Aid. I was sent to this address. I was told I could get…" she paused again.

"…the _particular_ kind of service required for your problem from us," Mr. Tuddleston finished.

The woman nodded.

"Yes, sir. That's what he said."

"What else was said?" This time it was the dark-haired man who spoke.

"Sir?"

"What my dear companion is trying to solicit," Tuddleston interjected, "perhaps a bit too ineloquently, is that we have to confirm your need is truly genuine."

"I-I don't understand, sir. I have money if you need it."

"Mm, we'll worry about appropriate compensation later," the large red-headed man said. "What I need to know, and please note that this is a requirement of all of our visitors, who is the 'he' you referred to?"

"Uhm," the old lady seemed perplexed. "You mean Barrister William?"

"Yes, that would be the one!" His hazel eyes shined. "Now then, madam, have you ever heard the name Styverson before?"

"Styverson? Uh, no." She paused a moment. "There's Stimpson what fixes up the doors and such in the neighborhood. Reasonable prices, I'd say."

"Ah, no. Hmm, very well. One final question for you, my dear lady."

Tuddleston reached under the counter and produced a folded piece of paper. Opening it, he held it so the woman could see it clearly. In the center was an ornate blue rose, surrounded by a field of silver.

"Does this symbol look familiar to you? Please examine it carefully. It could be a crest, a heraldic symbol of some noble family, perhaps even a maker's mark or patent stamp."

The woman leaned forward and after a moment shook her head in the negative.

"Take your time if you need to," he said.

"No, sir, I don't," she replied, worry starting to show on her face. "Am I supposed to? Barrister William didn't say I needed to know anything of names or pictures of flowers to get help."

"You're fine," the dark-haired man interjected as he moved in front of the counter. He indicated for Tuddleston to put away the paper. "Now, tell us of your situation."

"Yes, that," the lady said glumly. "My name is Emma Withers. As to my situation…"

She placed her hands in her lap and cast her eyes down. A tired, sullen look overcame her features.

"I guess," she started lowly, cleared her throat, and then spoke louder. "I guess, you could really say it's my own fault."

"Oh?"

"My husband, Teddy, um, Theodore and me, well we rent a spot near the Wrenhaven. We've had it for years, selling greens to some of the fishermen there. Trading for fresh catches and the like. Business'd be very good when the whaling trawlers'd show up."

She relaxed back into the chair before continuing.

"Theodore made a smart deal this past year. Set up a plan to get fresh fruit from Mr. Denbers and sell it at our stand along Copton Lane at the Schauke Dockyards." She smiled briefly. "It was a good plan; sales picked up even more."

"Yes, I can see that," Tuddleston blurted out and nodded appreciatively. "Men coming in from long tours at sea crave what they don't get on the treacherous waters, particularly the fresh fruit. I say, that was a grand scheme."

"Indeed," the dark-haired man agreed. His gaze trailed off for a moment as a familiar memory surfaced briefly. Discipline soon took hold, however, and he focused on the grey-haired lady again. "What has happened to change this?"

Their guest sighed.

"A gang came over. I think or at least I heard that they was from the Old Port District. But with curfews getting more and more common there due to the spread of the plague, they had to set up shop elsewhere."

"And these ne'er-do-wells chose your area?" Tuddleston put forth.

"Yes." Another deep sigh. "Then of course, they made their racket. Let us common folk know they was there, as if it weren't obvious enough. Little bit later they started asking for protection money, so that nothing unfortunate'd befall our shops they said."

"The local Watch?" the dark-haired man asked. "They could do nothing?"

"No, sir," she said. "Too busy with curfews of they own and river pirates. There's even been mention of Weepers on Godderson Boulevard. Plus, this gang were careful, always keeping an eye out for the Guard."

"I don't see how you blame yourself though, unless I'm misunderstanding you."

A pained look overcame her, and the corners of her eyes glistened.

"Twenty coin a week they wanted. Twenty! We barely cleared that in profit on a good week. Most of the time it weren't even a third of that. After the first three months I'd had enough. I made…" she hesitated and her lip trembled. "Damn foolish woman I am, I made Teddy refuse to give'm any more. To the Void with'em I said."

She rubbed her temple.

"We'd been saving see? Had our coin stashed away. All those years of saving and we was gonna get a nicer place, nothing fancy mind you. Just a little something bigger'n we had before. Wouldn't have to rent no more. We'd earned it, I think." She took a deep breath before going on. "Teddy, my brave man, he listened to me. He refused to give'm one coin more."

"And that's when the problem started?" Tuddleston queried.

She nodded.

"They said they needed to make an example of'im." A shudder went through her as she held back a sob. "Snatched'im and took'im to one of the docks where they unload the rail cars. Beat'im something fierce. I-I tried to stop'em, but they bashed me, too."

A far off look was in her eyes and then she continued in a quiet, detached voice almost as if she couldn't believe what she was relating.

"They tied him down to the rails they use for the cars. They powered a rail car up, and they…" she paused and her face contorted in pain. "Ran over his arm. Severed it right above the elbow. He screamed and bled everywhere. It was all I could do to stop him from bleeding out."

"My word," Tuddleston said aghast.

"They'd taken to the shop as well, had to let the others in the area know not to defy'em. I had to have everything repaired and new produce bought, and my poor Teddy. The doctor saved'im but everything cost so much. After all was said and done, a bright chap with a fancy burgundy jacket shows up at our place. He introduces himself as Mr. Murlyn and says our protection money is being upped to thirty coin a week, and that if any other noise is made, it'll be Teddy's head that is run over next."

"If I may," the redheaded man interrupted, "how did you come to meet our friend Barrister William?"

"I had to have papers drawn to get the shop fixed up. During our meeting I was tired and talked a bit more than I should. He listened carefully and finally says he knew someone who might help. Then he gave me that little red piece of paper and sent me here. Truthfully I almost didn't come, but we're close to running out of money. What'll we do if we can't pay up one day? What'll we do?"

The dark-haired man pursed his lips as he rubbed a hand under his chin. Finally he spoke.

"We'll deal with your problem."

Mrs. Withers' eyes lit up as hope started to take hold, but hesitation soon came back.

"But what if Mr. Murlyn finds out it was me that spoke again?"

"I'll take care of that."

"And payment? How much'll it be? I only have a little left now."

The man caught her gaze.

"I'll need a favor. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't know what it'll be yet, but when the time comes you'll have to provide it. That's the terms of business I do with all my clients. My services for one favor. Do you agree?"

"What kind of favor?" she asked. "I'm not good at fighting, and I never killed another soul."

"Nothing like that," he said with a smile. "The favor will be something within your capacity to grant."

She paused and then reached around to grab her beltpouch.

"It seems awfully cheap, actually. I have a bit of money. One hundred sixty-eight coin. That's what's left after a lifetime of working and saving." She looked him in the eyes and held the pouch forward. "But you can have it all for aiding me."

He shook his head in the negative and gently pushed the pouch back.

"Keep it."

A smile broke out on her face as her shoulders sagged in relief. She stood and moved forward.

"I-I don't even know your name, good sir."

"You may call me James, Mrs. Withers."

"You are indeed a blessing, James."

A dark smirk twisted the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps."

* * *

"That 'er then, Mr. Tuddleston?" said the youth in the brownish-grey jacket and cap.

"Yes, Otto. See that she makes it off of Bleetmore alright."

The youth shifted the toothpick in his mouth and a grim smile lit up his dirt-smeared face.

"As you say. Nobody'll touch 'er."

Tuddleston stood in the middle of Bleetmore Way and watched as his young associate nonchalantly followed Mrs. Withers who was making her way slowly away from the shop. The lad, Otto, was quick with a knife – the old woman would be safe. A gentle rustle signaled the approach of the look-out, Etiennette.

"Another client then for Master James?" she inquired in her lilting voice.

"Indeed," the large redhead said as he turned towards her with a smile. "A woman in most dire need it turns out."

"That's good then," she said with a quick grin. She hesitated and the grin vanished after a moment. "Does she know the flower?"

"Alas, no," he returned. "She's neither seen the symbol nor heard the name Styverson."

"Oh," the girl muttered quietly. She shook her head and sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if it's it just me. Maybe I was wrong. It's been so long now. This is what? His fifteenth client? And still no sign of the rose or the name. That horrid situation you found me in seems as a dream sometimes."

"My dear girl," Tuddleston moved close. "It was you who first put us on the path. You who gave James and me the first clues we needed. Do not fear. Something will come forth. You'll see."

"I wish I had your faith, Mr. Tuddleston."

"Albert, remember?" he clasped his hands about hers. "No need to be so formal. You're too important."

"Truly?" Her eyes lit up and the bright grin shone upon her face again. "You think so?"

"Indeed, you are a dear friend and valued member of our team."

She blinked and the grin lessened somewhat.

"Ah, right. We're all part of the team, then."

"Most assuredly." He smiled back at her, oblivious to the slight change in her demeanor. He released her hand, and patted her gently on the shoulder. "I need to make arrangements. We will chat later." He turned and went back to the shop.

"Right then," she muttered behind him. "Later."

* * *

_From: Constance Dartley_

_16 Finfick Lane_

_Legal District_

_Dunwall_

_..._

_To: James Dartley_

_Assignment: INV Guardian_

_Position: Master d'arms_

The worn envelope sat alone on the desk, a grim reminder of his worst failure. James Dartley sat back in his seat staring at it, thumb under his chin, and a finger across his lips. A memory came back, from a happier time two years ago…

…

…

"_When do you ship out?"_

_He turned to look at her when she spoke. _

"_Two days," was his reply._

_She smiled at him. She brushed a stray lock of dark brown hair from her face, and gazed on him with her pale blue eyes. They were full of hope and compassion._

_Constance Dartley. She was his dearest cousin and most treasured friend. He loved her, more than even a sister. She was his companion and sounding board. She shared in his triumphs and comforted him during his failings. She was brightness in a world sometimes too dark._

_And she had recently become engaged._

"_Then we'll wait for your tour to end," she said quietly. "The wedding simply can't take place without you."_

_He came over and took her hand in his._

"_It will be nine months this time," he admitted. "I'll have some time, maybe a day or two here and there. You shouldn't wait that long simply for me."_

_She chuckled._

"_We are the last of the Dartleys, you and I," she reminded him. "You __**will**__ give me away and not just on a day or two of shore leave. We will spend time together, my dear James, as we always have. Neither your navy nor my new husband will interfere with that."_

_James knew better than to argue with her; once she was set on a path it was very difficult to dissuade her._

"_Just let me know if this new beau of yours gives you any problems," he said with a grin. "I'll come back and thrash him immediately."_

_She laughed again, and hugged him about the waist._

"_If I need you for anything, you know I'll send word without delay." She winked at him._

"_And I will come without delay - the navy, the Ocean, and the Outsider be damned…"_

…

…

The bell at the shop's entrance brought him back to the present as his companion returned. The heavy footfalls indicated when the redheaded gentleman neared the back office. He smirked. No stealth in that one.

"James?"

"In here, Mr. Tuddleston."

"Ah, very good," the large man came through the doorway and paused just inside the office. The levity in his voice faltered as he saw the familiar letter. "Yes well, Mrs. Withers is gone. Otto will keep an eye on her until she makes it off of Bleetmore."

"Good."

"When, ah, should preparations be made?"

James looked up at his comrade.

"Immediately. There's no time to lose. You know that."

Tuddleston nodded, his gaze lingering on the envelope.

"I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. It wasn't your fault."

James narrowed his eyes.

"That storm cost us three days," he replied. "_Three._ And when we made port finally, it was too late."

"I know. You've told me-"

"I was too late then, Mr. Tuddleston. She asked for my aid and I wasn't there to save her." He glanced briefly at the envelope before tucking it into his shirt pocket. He stood up, moved to a free-standing coat rack, and retrieved his jacket and sword scabbard hanging there. "I won't be too late to help another seeking my aid."

"You can't save the world, you know."

James hesitated a moment.

"That was something I used to tell her during her time at the almshouse."

"And what was her reply to you?

The dark-haired man smiled humorlessly.

"'_By the Void I'll try._'"

Tuddleston gave a resigned sigh and shook his head.

"Then how do you wish to proceed?"

James drew his sword, examined the blade clinically, and sheathed it again before looking over at his friend.

"I think it's high time that we gathered up the Undertakers again."

* * *

**A/N: I'm using the Calendar as it appears in the artbook _Dishonored: The Dunwall Archives_. This is how the months were supposed to appear; the in-game version of the calendar is incorrect. See the _Dishonored wikia_ for details.**


	3. Chapter 2: Gathering the Undertakers

**A/N****:**** I decided to include horses as there is trace evidence that they exist in the **_**Dishonored**_** universe, even though they are never encountered directly in the game or its DLC. The motorized coach is an idea I got from the Dishonored Wiki.**

**Also, I'm apologizing in advance for the way Erin speaks - I gave her a slight Irish/Scottish accent mixed with a dash of English cockney and some of my own colloquialisms to mimic a street urchin hailing from Morley.**

* * *

**Favors**

**Chapter 2**

**Gathering the Undertakers**

* * *

_**The Twenty-Sixth Day of the Third Month, the Month of Nets, 1837**_

_**Fhavre Square**_

_**The Next Day, Early Morning**_

…

…

**Erin Brannigan**

The marketplace was abuzz with activity. Merchants were plying their trade as the greengrocers and fishmongers offered their latest goods. Customers, common and noble alike, perused the stalls, the shops, and the stationary carts.

Fhavre Square was ideally located just east of the Tailors' District. It was able to draw on a variety of customers ranging from the common folk of the Schauke Dockyards to the north, the middle class from the Tailors' District to the west, the wealthy gentry journeying in from the nearby Old Patrician Estates, or even the odd aristocrat from the far off Legal District.

On the east end, near Priory Road, business was particularly active. An older woman holding a large basket was examining the fresh produce offered by an assortment of suppliers.

"Good morning, Mrs. Benson," a stout man of about forty greeted from behind one of the stands.

"Mr. Odderman," she replied with a smile and a polite nod. She looked over his cart. "Anything good today?"

"Yup," he said with a grin. "Fresh apples from the hills south of Redmoor, and Tyvian pears brought in only last night."

Neither Odderman nor his customer noticed the slow, measured movement approaching in the shadows beneath the abandoned stall next to them.

"How much fer your apples?" the woman asked.

"A single coin'll nab you three of them. Same goes for the pears."

A pealing, mechanical signal emanated suddenly from the nearby loudspeaker drawing the attention of most of the crowd.

"_Attention Dunwall citizens,"_ the speaker began.

Odderman and Benson, along with several others, glanced up to the technological device. As they did so, a thin, pale hand darted out from under the abandoned stall and snatched away a pair of bright red apples.

"_The_ _Lady Emily Kaldwin was abducted over two months past at the moment of her mother's terrible murder. Anyone with information leading to the location or return of the daughter of our beloved, late Empress is required to speak to the City Watch at once."_

"That's become routine now," Odderman said with a shake of his head. "Still no word of the girl."

His customer nodded in agreement.

"There hasn't even been talk of ransom or anything," she said.

Another mechanical signal sounded a moment later.

"_Citizens and visitors of our fair city, the following announcement has just taken effect today,"_ the speaker began anew. _"The unidentified murderer known simply as the Beast of Whitecliff is no longer believed to be contained solely to that region. The City Watch now suspects he has become active in Dunwall itself."_

Many surprised folk glanced about at each other, some even starting up conversations about the news. Once more, the slight hand grabbed a pair of apples from Odderman's cart.

"_All citizens are asked to immediately report any suspicious individuals or behavior to your local branch of the City Watch."_

A final clang sounded the end of the morning announcements.

"Gives me the shudders, all that nasty murder business," Mrs. Benson said, clutching her basket tightly to her. "And to think he's supposed to be here now. In the city!"

"Agreed," the cart owner said with a nod. "But this is Dunwall we're talking about. The City Watch here is far bettered trained."

Two pears vanished from the bottom row as they talked.

"Maybe," Mrs. Benson continued. "But if they can't even protect the Empress and her young one, how are they gonna protect the likes of you and me?"

The slim appendage tentatively poked out again, but this time was suddenly grabbed.

"Hey now, what's this?" Odderman said in a stern voice as he roughly yanked the hand - and the rest of the person attached to it - up from beneath the empty stall.

The revealed figure was a short individual of younger years dressed in worn grey striped pants, an oversized yellow button-down shirt that was starting to fade, and a dark grey jacket that had seen better days. The green eyes, pale skin, freckles, and tufts of unkempt red hair poking out from under a black flat cap spoke of the individual's Morley ancestry.

"'ere, lemme go!" the youth balked, trying to wrest free of Odderman's grip. "I ain't done nuthin'!"

"Trying to steal from me?" The proprietor pulled the younger individual close. "I better call the Watch, eh boy?"

"Boy? Boy, 'e says?" An angry frown crossed the freckled face. "I'll 'ave ya know I'ma girl, and a grown one at that! Erin's me name, given right from me mum and da'."

Odderman chuckled as he kept a tight grip on her. "They'll still throw ya in jail regardless, girl or not."

"Fer wot?" the redhead asked. "I ain't done nuthin', like I says. I was jus' 'spectin' yer wares. Look, me grubbers are clean!" She held up her empty hands.

The greengrocer stared hard at Erin, trying to gauge the truth of her words. He glanced at his cart as the young girl watched nervously. Finally he turned back to her.

"I'm warnin' you, girl," he said, "I find any evidence of you snitching my goods, it's the Watch for you, ya hear me?"

"Yessir, I unnerstan'," she muttered with a quick nod. "Thank ya, sir."

He released her with a backwards shove, away from his cart. The motion jostled her a bit, and suddenly a bright red apple fell out from under her oversized shirt, struck the toe of her shoe with a low _**-thump-**_ and rolled right over to the grocer. The merchant, his lady customer, and the girl all stared at the conspicuous fruit for a moment, then they looked back at each other.

Erin blinked, gave a half-hearted chuckle, and saw the grocer's face turn a shade of red that matched the apple.

"Crap."

"Come here!" he growled as he lunged forward.

"YEEP!" Erin ducked to the side and under the man's reach; sometimes being a mere 5'3 came in handy. She took off at a quick sprint into the crowd, her pursuer calling from behind.

"Get over here, ya thief!"

"By the Void I will," she groused under her breath as she dodged past a man carrying a pair of chickens. She rushed onward, leaping over a small wheelbarrow. She twisted around a large woman examining a supply of cabbages. All the while, she heard Odderman shouting at her.

She glanced back to check her progress. To her dismay the man was not that far behind her.

"Ya need ta move yer arse, Erin, ya numpty prat," she scolded herself.

A young man carrying a wooden tray of tarts baked fresh from an older-style kiln passed in front of the girl, the enticing smell washing over her.

"Cor," she said with a happy sigh. "Fresh pastries!" She slowed, inhaling the pleasant aroma, and glanced at the tray. "Now that's wot I be needin' next time I… OOOF!"

She slammed into, and rebounded _off of_, a solid figure dressed in the dark blue uniform of a Watch Officer. Two more apples and a pear fell from under her shirt, and landed on the ground.

"Stop her, she's a thief!" Odderman cried out.

"Crap," she muttered while dropping to the ground and rolling under a table near a stall entrance. "Crap, crap, crap."

She got to her feet and started brushing past some of the attendants stationed at the stall.

"Move yer arses!" she yelled with urgency.

"Stop there!" ordered the man in the uniform.

"Nope, nope, nope!" she called back, then focused her attention on a tightly packed group of workers in front of her. "Make a hole!"

She pushed through and cleared some short crates in her path with a quick hop, then dodged around a big barrel. She scrambled onto the top of a large table, dashed to the edge, and leapt off, trying to clear the top of a wooden fence in the back. She made it… _almost_.

"SHIT!"

_**-CR-RASH-**_

She busted through the barrier and landed hard, facedown amidst splintered wood and a small cloud of dust. The last two pieces of stolen fruit, an apple and a pear, popped out of the top of her shirt and rolled away. She scrambled forward as quick as she could, attempting to snatch them back, just as a well polished shoe stepped in front of the rolling apple impeding its progress. She tried to glance up to see the newcomer when she was grabbed roughly by the scruff of the neck and hauled off the ground.

"Och!" she yelped as she squirmed to free herself from her unknown assailant. "Nae please, I dinna mean ta do it. They was all for me ol' mum! Suff'rin' from the cough, she is. I dinna wan'er catchin' the plague! Please, 'ave mercy!"

She was held fast, feet kicking off the ground as a low voice replied.

"Erin Brannigan, I know better," the familiar voice stated calmly. "Both of your parents are deceased."

She ceased her struggling and turned to look at the dark-haired man holding her aloft. She blinked in surprise. It was James Dartley, and with him, retrieving the apple from the ground, was a well-dressed Albert Tuddleston.

"Oh, 'ello there, boss. How's fings wit' you?"

The Watch Officer and an exasperated Odderman arrived a moment later, the latter panting heavily.

"I owe you a debt, my man," the merchant said as he leaned forward gasping for breath. "That girl stole my goods."

James eased the girl to the ground, took in the situation quickly, and grabbed the fallen pear.

"Actually, I believe it is I who owe _you_ an apology," he said. He indicated Erin with a nod. "I sent my young ward to gather something to eat for my associate and me and failed to provide her with the appropriate coin. I can be something of a taskmaster and I'm sure she didn't want to come back empty-handed."

He reached into his pocket, withdrew two silver coins worth five each, and handed them to the merchant.

"Ten should cover your troubles, correct?" He polished the pear on his vest then took a quick bite.

The merchant stared at the money then looked at the officer who awaited a reply.

"I… yes, that'll be fine." He hesitated. "Um, I… Hm, okay then."

The officer glanced at the merchant then looked at James.

"That matter may be settled, but what about this fence?" He pointed to the splintered wall. "Who's going to take care of that?"

Tuddleston stepped forward.

"I shall speak to the property owner immediately, my dear fellow," he said with a disarming smile. "All will be made right, I assure you."

The watchman looked around the area, shrugged his shoulders and finally gave in.

"Alright then. You gentlemen have a good day. Just keep _her_ out of the market."

After the Watch Officer and the merchant left, James eyed Erin, a scowl upon his face.

"That ten o' coin be comin' outta me pocket, ain't it?" she inquired.

He nodded slowly.

She shook her head and gave a resigned sigh.

"Crap."

…

…

At an overgrown site away from the residential areas of the city, Erin reached behind a tangled bush, and grabbed a rusty metal pole. She braced the pole against a large rock and applied all of her weight to it.

"So, gots a job lined up for us now, do ya?" she muttered through grit teeth as she slowly moved the heavy stone aside. "Good ta know. Been a while, it has. Be needin' a bit o' coin after that jiggered mess this mornin'."

Under the rock was a recessed area, hidden from prying eyes. In the secreted area were a burlap sack, a small belt pouch, and a club with etchings upon it. Retrieving the items, she set the pole to the other side of the rock and began pushing.

"Little help 'ere, eh?"

With a shake of his head, James grabbed the pole and shifted the rock back over the secret area, hiding it once again from view.

"So, wot's the score then, boss? Wot ya need me ta do?"

James smirked at the girl.

"I need you to take me to Rollo."

* * *

**Rollo Septner**

"Be prepared, boys. This bastard's supposed to be clever. Let me do the talking, but stay at the ready."

"You're da boss, Mr. Sharp."

A cruel man of Serkonan birth with black hair and dark eyes, the criminal Arturo Sharp had recently removed a rival from the area and quickly capitalized on it, spreading his reach a bit further. Soon, he planned on expanding his little empire into Fhavre Square – the area was a hotbed of contention for various criminal factions: The Bottle Street Gang, The Barrel Boys led by Steely Thews, and even Gibbons' Trump Cards. But first he'd have to deal with a minor nuisance, and he brought along a pair of his thugs to help him with that.

He'd hired a local snitch by the name of Squeak to make contact with this particular nuisance that went by the name of Rollo, and set up a meet – at a disused bloodox slaughterhouse on Dellar Avenue. The man had agreed and was awaiting him within.

Ascending a set of metal stairs leading to one of the large offices of the abandoned facility, Sharp and his two men entered cautiously. The figure waiting inside was not what he was anticipating.

"You're late," grumbled the small man lounging haphazardly in the office manager's chair.

"Is your name Rollo?" Sharp asked.

"Aye, it is indeed."

The individual calling himself Rollo was a thin, dark-haired man who appeared in his early forties. He had several days' growth of stubble which he scratched nonchalantly as he observed his three guests. It was difficult to gauge from his slouched position, but he barely seemed to top five and a half feet tall.

He had on a long dark brown overcoat, the ends of which were beginning to fray, and a black bowler sat cocked at an angle on his head. He glanced down and examined his nails, made visible by his fingerless cloth gloves. His oddest article of clothing was a large pair of brass safety goggles with a hinged attachment supporting a second pair of spectacles that were darkly tinted; the goggles appeared like something that a watchmaker would normally be seen wearing.

The unusual attire and overall appearance of the man stunned Sharp to say the least.

After a brief interlude of silence, the short man glanced up from his nails, and flipped the tinted spectacles up, revealing dark, rat-like eyes distorted by the lens.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked his trio of guests.

"You're…" Sharp began after a moment's hesitation. "You're not quite what I expected. I was expecting someone more… _impressive_."

The little figure stood and stretched revealing that he was indeed less than five-foot-six.

"And I was expectin' to have this business wrapped up half an hour ago, and myself well on my way to a pub for a drink." He smirked humorlessly. "Guess we're both disappointed then."

A slight rattle came from one of the lockers near the back of the room drawing the attention of the occupants of the room.

"What is that?" Sharp asked.

"Huh?" Rollo grinned with a gesture to the battered locker. "Oh that there's Squeak. All trussed up and waitin' for this meet to come to its conclusion. He said he wanted to be here when it all played out."

The short man paused for a moment to scratch his dark stubble.

"Or was it 'Please sir, don't kill me!'" He chuckled then pointed to his own head. "Heh. I forget sometimes. A bit addled in the ol' brainpan before my afternoon imbibement."

He indicated a small desk in the far corner upon which sat several bottles of various shapes and sizes.

"Speakin' a which, would you care for a drink?"

"No, you dullard!" the taller man yelled. "We're here to settle matters between us. Or rather I'm here to settle matters with those that hold your chain."

The short man stopped and turned to look Sharp straight in the eyes.

"Sure nuff then, bucko," he growled with a curl of his lip. "We'll be settlin' right quick. But a word of clarity for you to think about before we get this meet underway." He took a measured step forward. "The name's Rollo Septner and nobody… _NOBODY_ holds me on a chain. Ya got that?"

This time it was Sharp who smirked.

"Fine." He cleared his throat. "I'll make it plain: I intend for Fhavre Square to come under my purview. I've got the funds. And soon I'll have the muscle."

Rollo raised an eyebrow.

"Lickety split and all that, eh?" The short man shook his head. "There's rules and such, plus considerations to figure in."

"Considerations?" Sharp narrowed his eyes. "What considerations?"

"First off, others got their shiny eyes on the prize. I was paid by Slathersby Crumb to represent his interests, and he of course answers to Slackjaw. What'll the Bottle Streeters get out of this?"

A look of confusion overcame the face of the tall Serkonan.

"Get?" He scoffed. "They get nothing. They're not doing the work. They're not setting up the deals. I am. They're too embroiled in their little ongoing feud with Steely Thews and his men."

Rollo twisted his lip before responding.

"And it's true you plan on trading noxom leaf in the area once you 'take over'?"

Sharp grinned maliciously.

"Of course! It's one of my main sources of income. I'll sell it to whoever is able to pay. Crumb and the Bottle Street Gang have their distillery. I have my growers. I'm not cutting in on either their whiskey or their bootleg elixir."

"True," the odd little man admitted. "But noxom leaf without moderation? People'd be forgetting to take their elixir. Plague'd be worse than ever. Your customers will start dying off, bucko."

"Dying off?" the Serkonan seemed perplexed. "What do I care? I'll always get more."

"Mm, now there's the rub, chum." Rollo scratched his chin again. "This whole city's dying. And somethin' like noxom leaf unchecked? No sir, that'd kick it into the Void for certain. You want to make money. And then keep making it, see? A dead cluck won't bring in the coin anymore, bucko."

Sharp blinked in surprise.

"Sure I can't offer you a drink?" The short man started moving towards the desk with the various bottles. "Talk ya into doin' something else?"

"Are you a criminal, or a philosopher?" the Serkonan finally asked. "Are you trying to save the city, or reap what you can from it? For myself I intend to squeeze it until its dead and dry."

"I'm a businessman first and foremost," the small man admitted. He drew a long knife out of a belt sheath. "I'm also a killer when I have to be."

Both of the thugs on either side of Arturo put their hands onto the pommels of their blades. Their host seemed unimpressed as he finally reached the desk and grabbed the largest glass container.

"But what I am currently," the short man said as he flipped his tinted spectacles back into place. "…is regretful that ya didn't agree to that drink."

He turned towards them and shook the bottle in his hand; a bright glow emanated from within the smoky glass. Arturo Sharp realized too late what was in the bottle as the shorter man hurled it towards his men.

"Whale oil!" he screamed as the unstable liquid exploded.

_**KA-WHOOM!**_

Blinded by the sudden blast of light, Sharp could do nothing but stumble about the unfamiliar room. He heard a scream and the sound of a steel blade piercing flesh. The sound repeated itself, then there was silence.

"W-wait!" the Serkonan yelled. "W-we can talk this over!"

A low voice echoed out of the grayish haze that was his vision.

"Sorry, bucko. The time for niceties is over."

…

…

"Dellar Avenue's 'bout shut down," Erin stated as she led James and Albert to Rollo's newest 'place of business'. "Shops closed. Homes empty. Rollie likes it like that. Quiet an' such, ya know?"

Tuddleston nodded.

"I certainly know I wouldn't come calling here for him," the large man said as he glanced around the rundown area of the District.

"Doubt ya'd call on'im anyhows, Mr. Fancy Tuddles," the girl said back with a wink.

"Hm, true."

Their guide suddenly pointed up at an abandoned slaughterhouse for bloodoxen.

"There it is, alright." The girl took off at a trot. "C'mon then."

They reached the main stairway and James grabbed her arm.

"Let me go on first," he said. "Rollo sometimes has surprises in place if he isn't expecting company."

"As ya say, boss," the girl relented as she shifted the weight of her burlap sack to the other shoulder.

James ascended the stairs alone, mindful not to let his footfalls echo upon the metal steps too loudly. About halfway up he noted the acrid stench of freshly ignited whale oil mixed with another pungent smell. Burnt human flesh?

With a frown he carefully drew his sword and reached the top of the stairs. Easing the door aside as quietly as he could, he glanced inside the darkened room.

_**thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip-THUNK!**_

A long knife was thrown and buried itself into the wooden frame of the door mere inches from his head. With a half-muttered curse, James leapt into the dark room, tucking and rolling as he landed. He came up to a knee and made to move just as the barrel of a pistol was pressed firmly against the middle of his forehead.

"Greetings to ya, James," a voice said from the gloom. "It's polite ta knock, y'know. The blade was just a warning. You do realize if I wanted you dead, well, then you'd be dead."

"Yes, Rollo," he said calmly. It was true. Rollo had more skill with his throwing knives than the majority of the navy officers from the Academy had with their pistols. "I just noticed the smell of burning oil in the air. Thought you might need help."

He waited as the man rolled that around in his head. Rollo was an excellent ally to have at your side, but there were moments the sanity of the short, dangerous individual could be called into question.

"Fair nuff." He pulled the gun's barrel away from James' head and slowly slid the weapon back into place on his belt. "You're just in time to help me."

"Oh?"

He heard the smaller man shuffle about in the dark for a moment and then a small candelabrum was lit, giving the area a vague illumination. His host pointed to a large clay jug sitting next to what appeared to be dark blood stains across the floor.

"Whiskey," the man explained, concerning the contents of the jug. "Whale oil's too expensive and volatile for what I need done."

James glanced at the man and briefly considered not assisting him. However, it always seemed prudent to just give aid to Rollo rather than argue with him; after all he did need the man's help in return. He finally shrugged, then picked up the jug and hoisted it over his shoulder.

"And what is it that you need done?"

Rollo flipped up the tinted spectacles and then gave him a twisted grin.

"We're burning the place down, of course."

James raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. Of course."

Rollo gave him a friendly rap on the arm then went back to gathering up some smaller supplies laying about the large office.

James shook his head then started pouring the whiskey thoroughly about the room until he got to a large locker near the back. A sudden rattling from within the locker made the navy man jump.

"Rollo! What in the Void?"

The short man blinked then glanced at the locker.

"Oh shit! That's Squeak!"

He rushed to the metal container and opened it up. A bruised young man was gagged and bound tightly with rope.

"Sorry, chum, sorry," Rollo apologized quickly as he cut the ropes.

He finally helped the young man to his feet.

"There we are now!" he exclaimed with a merry grin. "Almost left ya here to cook didn't I?"

The young man shook and then caught James' gaze with his own.

"H-he killed them," the young man stuttered. "All three. I-in seconds."

"Pah!" Rollo said with a smirk. "Took almost a minute honestly. That bastard, Sharp, kept trying to crawl away."

James grabbed the young man by his rumpled shirt.

"I'd just leave if I were you."

The young man nodded as James released him, and then bolted out of the exit.

"Well now," the man with the goggles said. "Let's light'er up!"

…

…

As the slaughterhouse office burned, the short man turned towards the others.

"Now then, I'm not the sharpest tack, but I'm supposin' this isn't a social call," he said looking up at the navy man. "What do ya need?"

"A new gang is in the Tailors' District. They're operating in the Schauke Dockyards area near Copton Lane."

Rollo's eyes narrowed behind his goggles.

"Yeah. So?"

"You've heard of them, then?" James wasn't actually surprised. His associate did have vast knowledge of the criminal world.

"Run by a fancy chap named Murlyn?" the small man asked. "Dresses up nice, usually in burgundy attire?"

"That'd be the one," Tuddleston admitted with a nod.

The short man sighed and pulled off his goggles so he could pinch the bridge of his nose.

"And let me guess, that's who ya promised someone ya'd deal with?"

He glanced up as James nodded.

"Of course ya did!" the short man exclaimed with a scowl. "The gang's called Murlyn's Merry Boyz. With a 'z'. I don't know why, but that's what they're called." He moved in close and squinted one eye at the navy man. "He's got near ta two dozen fellas with him, ya know that?"

Tuddleston and Erin exchanged worried glances with each other, but James remained calm as he replied.

"Honestly no, I didn't."

Rollo threw up his arms.

"Course ya didn't!" He paced back and forth angrily. "Never a 'Hey Rollo, we have a problem with Rosemary the Beautiful but Lonely Seamstress, could ya handle that?' or maybe a 'Hey Rollo ya need ta wrestle with Beatrice the Buxom Barmaid'."

He stopped, then poked James in the chest.

"Ya need to quit picking shit jobs, bucko."

James cocked an eyebrow then asked, "Do you want in?"

He finally harrumphed.

"How much does it pay?"

Erin snickered at that.

"How much ya be thinkin'?"

"One of your damnable favors? Again?" The short criminal shook his head. "You navy types never were bright on economics, were ya?"

"There's also the time constraint," Tuddleston added.

"Time constraint?" Rollo's left eye twitched. "We got ta do this right away, don't we?"

James's smirk was answer enough.

"Urg!" he balked. "And lemme guess, it's just us so far?"

"Yep," Erin said.

Rollo rubbed the back of his neck for a moment.

"A might shame we won't have the Tyvian with us."

"Though his aid would most assuredly be desired," Tuddleston interjected, "it usually takes a minimum of four days for him to answer a summons."

The small man grumbled.

"You'll need some heavies for this," he glanced at Tuddleston. "Ya bringin' your blunderbuss?"

"If necessary, yes," the large redhead said with a nod.

"It'll be necessary, believe me," he replied then looked at James. "Guess you're expectin' you and me to do the knife work then. However, it wouldn't hurt to bring the Overseer."

"He prefers _ex_-Overseer," Tuddleston reminded him. "They did try to brand him remember?"

"Yes, he was my next stop," admitted James. "If this gang is as numerous as you say then we'll need his sword skills."

Erin gasped as a wide grin broke out on her face.

"We be off ta seein' Addie?" she asked. The enthusiasm in her voice was obvious.

"Who ya think we're talkin' about?" the short man asked.

"Void take me," the girl remarked as she started dusting off her pants, and straightening her jacket. "Ya dinna think to be tellin' me we was gonna see'im afore now? I look a frightful mess, I do!"

Rollo cocked an eyebrow as a sneer twisted his lips.

"We ain't goin' to see'im for social niceties so's ya can get all giggly and sticky-eyed."

"I dinna get 'sticky-eyed', ya rat-faced chuffer!" she retorted, balling her fists in anger.

"That's ENOUGH!" James interjected as he moved between them, his own temper starting to rise. He glanced at Rollo. "Are you through with your nonsense? There's work to do and we need to get started as soon as possible. You can either come with us or not. Your choice."

The short man narrowed his eyes as he stared up at him, then surprisingly he relented.

"Ya know I'll hold up my end," Rollo replied matter-of-factly with a wave of his hand.

"And you?" The navy man looked at Erin.

She nodded sullenly as she shifted her burlap sack.

"Good," James said. "Now let's go fetch Ademar."

* * *

**Ademar Creed**

Normally they would be travelling by a horse-drawn wagon. As speed was essential, however, James had instructed Tuddleston to prepare the motorized coach instead. A horseless vehicle, the motorized coach was neither as fast nor as solidly built as the typical rail car. However, unlike the more famous vehicle of the wealthy, it was not restricted to travel merely along the rails of the city. Plus it _was_ quicker than any horse-drawn carriage, and more maneuverable.

As the quartet passed along Mason Road heading into the Old Port District, James noted the changes taking place. Sections of the district were being walled up, heavy plates of iron and steel closing off whole streets. He wouldn't be surprised if in a couple of months the area would be shut down completely. The fact that it butted up against the quarantined Flooded District didn't help matters.

At a small sidestreet near a barber shop, Tuddleston adjusted the throttle lever, and turned the handle, steering the vehicle towards the river's tributary. The uneven cobblestone path jostled the coach somewhat, but otherwise didn't impede its progress, and soon _Hamblin's Boathouse and Repair Station_ came into view.

With the trade to this part of the city slowly shifting to Slaughterhouse Row, lesser docks and boathouses such as this were sold, abandoned, or confiscated by agents and barristers of the Empire. As the property being acquired soon outgrew the government's ability to maintain it, small businesses such as _Hamblin's_ sometimes fell through the cracks. Thus, the unused business became an ideal training ground and domicile for one Ademar Creed.

As their coach came to a stop, the whirl of machinery coupled with the sounds of thick ropes and pulleys moving within _Hamblin's_ signaled that the young man was busy at his daily routine.

"Oy, 'e's trainin'!" Erin yelped, a smile splitting her face. "C'mon then! Ya ken be gettin' a better look at'im up at the metal platform attached onna east side." The young girl took off at a run, her precious burlap sack forgotten in the carriage.

Not even bothering to wonder how she knew the perfect spot to 'spy' upon the young warrior, James just shook his head as they followed her to the designated spot. She plopped on her stomach, and propped her head up on her hands, while James crouched low and looked through some open slats in the eastern wall.

"Cor, how 'ansome 'e is," she mused to herself with a dreamy sigh.

James chuckled lightly to himself as he looked upon the object of the girl's affection.

The figure within the building was a clean-shaven young man with sharp, chiseled features in his mid to late twenties. Just topping six feet, he was lean yet well muscled with an athlete's build. His most distinguishing features were his shock white hair and his ice blue eyes whose piercing gaze missed nothing.

The young man was currently making a run through a hand-crafted 'obstacle course' he had built himself. Heavy gears powered by whale oil tanks moved the various hazards at odd patterns as he pressed onward. He ran across a metal catwalk, dodging metal shards beaten to resemble enemy blades, ducking beneath wooden spikes carved to deadly points, and eluding heavy chains set with vicious metal hooks to catch prey unaware. The navy man nodded in approval; the young warrior was quick and sure on his feet.

At one point, Ademar stopped, turned, and fired the pistol he held in his offhand. The bullet traveled unerringly to shatter a small jug tied to a rope affixed to a rotating pulley in the ceiling – a difficult shot in the best of circumstances. A smug look crossed the man's face as he prepared to dodge a wide log swinging crossways at his chest.

"Yay, Addie!" Erin funneled her hands around her mouth and shouted her approval. "Ya showed it wot fer!"

The young man was startled by the sudden exclamation and looked around for its source, momentarily forgetting the log.

_**-WHUMP!-**_

He was slammed sideways and tumbled off the catwalk, landing heavily on the packed dirt some eight feet below.

The girl squeaked in dismay.

"Och! I kilt 'im!" She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the front of the boathouse, followed quickly by the others. By the time they arrived, the door had been opened by a bruised and disgruntled Ademar.

"It seems you have shown me some weaknesses in the defenses of my home," he said with a glare at the girl. "For that I thank you. Now, how may I be of assistance?"

Noting the disparaging look, Erin jerked a thumb at James who stood behind her.

"Uh, I brought the boss ta see ya," she muttered as a half-explanation then quickly got out of the way.

Ademar's gaze flicked up to James. A low smile worked its way up to his face.

"It's good to see you again, Master James," he said, pulling off his glove and offering his hand in greeting. "Has there been word then? Proof of your cousin's innocence?"

"Not yet, Ademar," James returned, firmly clasping the proffered hand.

A slight look of disappointment played briefly upon the younger man's features before his eyes narrowed.

"But you are here anyway, which could only mean-"

"Someone else needs our help," the navy man nodded. "Someone wronged by those who seek to prey on anyone weaker than themselves. Someone in desperate straits."

Ademar nodded.

"I wasn't expecting company, but it matters not. As Overseer Ackerman said '_Be prepared always, for it is in times of negligence that the Outsider's influence will sneak through_.' Give me a few moments to properly clean up, and then my blade is at your service."

James smirked.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

…

…

After a quick bath, Ademar stood in front of the mirror in the makeshift bathroom he crafted from an old storage locker. He'd brushed his wet hair back and stared at his reflection in the cracked surface of the borrowed mirror. How had it all come to this?

…

_He'd been born to a well-off family who held one of the nicer homes in the Estate District. Proud of and a bit doting to their only child, his parents had sent him off to the best tutors, both intellectual and physical. While he was intelligent and learned his studies well, it was the athletic lessons he excelled at, swordsmanship in particular._

_He longed to serve the people in some way, to give to others some of the joys he'd experienced in his childhood, free of oppression. The military looked at him with favor and his mastery of the blade made him an ideal candidate. However, over the concerns of his family and friends, he instead chose to petition for entry into the Abbey of the Everyman, seeing the institution as epitomizing everything he hoped to stand for._

_How wrong he was._

_The Abbey eagerly accepted him into its fold, after all a son of a prominent family voluntarily seeking admission to the Abbey was always good for the Order's reputation. His intelligence and quick grasp of engineering helped him become apprenticed to High Artificer Bartholomew, but it was his sword skills that impressed his superiors the most. He soon surpassed his teachers and by his twenty-fourth birthday he had easily obtained the rank of one of the Head Instructors of the Abbey's martial division. No small feat._

_However, he had one glaring deficiency. He had a conscience. _

_When a young woman, an assistant to the director of an almshouse, was suddenly accused of heresy by one of the Vice Overseers without a shred of evidence, he made inquiries… and was promptly reprimanded. When the girl somehow escaped her captors, and was then later found murdered near an alley in the Tailors' District, Ademar knew something was woefully wrong. _

_The girl's cousin, a decorated naval officer, made similar inquiries, and Ademar knew it was time to take steps. Unfortunately, his actions led to his ostracism and him very nearly receiving the Heretic's Brand for being a traitor were it not for the actions of the valiant naval officer. Ademar had disgraced his name and his faith; he tarnished the image of his beloved parents, and sent all he had worked for screaming into the Void._

…

Steam from the hot water fogged up the mirror and brought him back to the present. He sighed then cast away his doubt and despair. Such would not aid him for the task ahead. He finished getting dressed then exited to the main chamber where his fellow Undertakers were awaiting him.

At the far end he saw Tuddleson in quiet conversation with James. The always merry scribe was a decent enough fellow, and his bookish knowledge and organizational skills were useful, but the man was ill-suited for combat. Still, Ademar enjoyed his conversation and advice.

Near the back entry facing the tributary was the man named Rollo. A disagreeable lout, Ademar often wondered how an honorable military man like James would ever get involved with his sort. However, the short criminal's connections to the underworld served the group well on more than one occasion. More importantly, he was good in a fight being equally skilled in both blade and pistol. Despite their different outlooks on life, Ademar knew Rollo could hold up his end of any confrontation.

Finally, there was the street urchin Erin, who was currently paying particular attention to one of the pulley systems on his obstacle course. She, more than anyone else, perplexed the young man. When he had first met the girl some fourteen months ago, he found her bothersome at best; a chaotic child playing amongst the adults in a very dangerous game. Nevertheless, her knowledge of the streets and ability to blend in unseen at times were impressive assets when the job required such.

His unspoken praise of her skills vanished almost immediately as she began poking one of the pulleys with a stick. He moved quickly toward her.

"What are you doing? Please don't touch th-"

"Pig fat," she stated flatly.

He blinked in surprise, uncertain if he heard her correctly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Pig fat," she repeated, turning to look him in the eyes. "That pulley be wearin' the leather and could get jiggered if not properly cared for. Pig fat'd loosen 'er up. Me da' 'splained these fings ta me. Helped'im in 'is workshop when I was just a wee lass, I did. Learnt a lot from'im."

The ex-Overseer examined the area. The girl was correct; the strap was starting to show signs of wear.

"Hm, thank you for pointing that out."

The girl smiled broadly.

"Oh, anytime, Addie! I ken be helpin' out if'n ya ever needed me to. Anytime at all."

Before he could respond, James called out across the open chamber.

"Ready then? We need to discuss the situation at hand."

Ademar nodded and took his guests to an area off to the side when a table and chairs were set up near some cabinets.

"As I said I wasn't expecting anyone, so my fare is rather lacking." He retrieved some tins of brined hagfish and Dabokva-brand whale meat.

"Its fine," James said with a wave of his hand. "We've actually come to retrieve you before it becomes too dark."

The young man nodded.

"And there'll be action no doubt, seeing as how you've trekked all the way here."

"Indeed," Tuddleston interjected. "A copious amount, I'm afraid."

A slight frown creased the young man's lips.

"Is it safe then," he began with a slight glance in Erin's direction, "for all of the members of our band? Even the younger ones?"

"Wot?" the Morlish girl piped in as she noted his look. "Callin' me a child? Seen eighteen winters now, I 'ave!"

"That's not what I meant," he explained quickly. "I just don't think you're best suited for the situation in case we should come into physical conflict."

"Cor, lissen ta you!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms with a pout. "Gon' give me guff jus' cuz you such a crispy pickle! Ken 'andle meself in a tuss, I ken."

Ademar glanced at James and mouthed the words _Crispy pickle?_

James just shrugged with a shake of his head.

"Despite your concerns, I think we'll need everyone assembled here for the job at hand."

"As you wish," the young man relented. "What do you need from me precisely? Sword and pistol only? Or something more noteworthy?"

"I think your old business attire may come in handy. Bring it along with a set of common clothes."

Ademar nodded in reply.

"Jus' what is it we're doin' then?" Rollo cut in. "What's the plan?"

James smirked as he glanced about the table, catching the gaze of each of them in turn.

"My friends," he said in a low voice, "we're going into the greengrocer business."

* * *

**A/N: In case you're wondering, Fhavre Square and the Schauke Dockyards are my creations, and appear in a few of my _Dishonored_ fics. They are not, however, canon sites in the world of _Dishonored_.**

**Pronunciation: **

**Fhavre: FHAV-ray**

**Schauke: SHOCK-ee**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 3: An Honest Trade

**A/N:**** I always loved the notes, passages, and books discovered throughout the game. They added a great bit lore and atmosphere to _Dishonored_ (and to Dunwall itself), especially since not everything you found related to the missions/story at hand; they were just a great bit of flavoring.**

**For the basis of the passage that Erin reads aloud at the beginning ****I looked at older American Naval books (late 19th century to the mid 1940s) as well as a British treatise for the Royal Naval (circa 1703).**

* * *

**Favors**

**Ch. 3**

**An Honest Trade**

* * *

**_The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Third Month, the Month of Nets, 1837_**

_**The Schauke Dockyards**_

…

…

The morning sun pulled itself free of the horizon. Dark clouds hung high in the sky over the dockyards, but for now the sunlight was unimpeded as it bathed Copton Lane in a cheery glow.

Not as large or expansive as Fhavre Square, the Schauke Dockyards still supported a good sized marketplace. Most merchants used either large independent booths or smaller carts that they loaded with their wares at the beginning of every day, but there were also a few prominent shops such as the one the Undertakers had taken over.

James propped open the door to the freestanding building that served as the Withers' Grocery. He took in the fresh air blowing over from across the Wrenhaven, and a hint of a smile played upon his face as memories of his naval days surfaced ever so briefly.

Tuddleston unlatched and opened the front window from the inside, letting light into the gloomy interior as Erin sat upon a large barrel near the back of the store, a slim tome in her hand. As the rotund scribe prepared the daily ledgers, the young Morlish girl read aloud from the book, _A Historical &amp; Political Treatise of the Royal Gristian Navy and the Men Serving in It_.

"_The Master d'arms is one of a ship's senior ranks,_" she read slowly, drawing out each word and alluding to her lack of literary skill. "_He is in charge of discipline aboard ship, assisted by regulators of which he is himself a member. His duties include being responsible for keeping the ship's small arms and edged weapons in good working order, and to drill the ship's company in their use._"

"_The Master d'arms needs to be qualified in close order fighting under arms and able to train seamen in all forms of combat. When necessary, he is to conduct preventative measures to mit…_" She paused and held the book up so Tuddleston could see the word.

"Mitigate," the merry gentleman said with a grin. Upon seeing the girl's queried expression, he further explained. "It means to make less severe, or alleviate a situation or thing."

"Ah, right," she said with a nod before continuing with the passage. _"…he is to conduct preventative measures to mitigate hostile actions against personnel, resources, facilities, critical information, and citizens under his pur…"_ She pointed to another word.

"Hm? Ah yes. Purview. It means the range of operation, responsibility, authority, control, or concern."

The girl glanced back at the book. "So, the boss? Bein' the protector o' the ship, 'e was? Watchin' out fer everyone wot needs watchin' out fer?"

"Indeed," the large man said as he opened the top ledger and began making notes for the day's expected transactions.

"Been doin' it inna navy forever, 'e has," the girl mused then looked up as James came back inside. "And still be doin' it now fer those wot need it 'ere."

The dark-haired man noted the book in her hands, reached out, and took it.

"Planning to earn a commission in the Navy?" he asked as he examined the cover.

"Jus' catchin' up on me readin' is all," she explained. "Mr. Fancy Tuddles says its good fer me."

"Tuddleston," the large man corrected, looking up from the ledger with a pointed stare.

"Yep. Wot I meant. Tuddleston."

"Her reading skills have improved," the scribe noted with a satisfied nod. "Quite impressively."

The girl grinned smugly.

"There ya go! Off an' learnin' I am. Gon' be smart as you one day, eh, Mr. Fancy Tuddles?"

"Hm, I choose not to comment on that particular query."

"Wot was that?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Despite your improved education," James said as he set the book down on a shelf, "there're other things that need to be taken care of."

He pointed to a large bucket and four wooden trays of cabbages resting on the floor.

"There's a basin out back attached to the Withers' shed. Clean these and bring them back."

She blinked at him.

"'Spectin' me to wot? Clean'em?"

"Erin, don't argue. You know what you need to do."

"Och!" she said as she hopped off the barrel, and made a big show of grabbing up the empty bucket and the first tray of vegetables. "Dinna know I was ta be learnin' an _honest trade_ now. If I were, wou'nah be grocerin' that I'd choose!"

She exited the building with a huff, as Tuddleston glanced over at James.

"She'll do fine; I am most confident of her abilities," the large redheaded man said.

"Of that I have no doubt," his companion replied with a nod. "Then once everything is ready, we'll signal Rollo and Ademar."

"Yes, it is a bit worrisome having the latter two so far away, but appearances must be kept up I suppose."

* * *

The Clocktower chimed the nine o'clock hour as Erin refilled the large bucket _once again_. She returned to the fourth and final tray of vegetables that she had placed on the path near the back alley, grumbling the entire time.

"Be needin' ta wash the fresh greens, me arse."

She set the bucket down and squatted next to it, retrieving the first cabbage as she did so. She gently dunked it into the cold, clean water and gave it a slight shake.

"Make sure I dinna tear it apart this time, otherwise there be more scoldin' 'bout wot I'm doin' wrong."

She withdrew the cabbage from the bucket, shook out the excess water, and set it in the tray.

"Och! This be borin'!" she exclaimed as she scratched her nose on her sleeve. She reached for the second cabbage.

A footfall from further up the alley caught her attention.

"Who's there?" She stood and retrieved the paring knife from her belt, holding it out in front of her. "Gotta blade, I do."

A light chuckle emanated from the alley as a young man emerged. He was about twenty years old, with neatly trimmed dark hair that had been slicked back. He had bright brown eyes, attractive features, and a disarming smile. His clothes weren't the best quality but they appeared well-maintained. In his hand he carried an apple.

Erin blinked and lowered her knife.

"Cor, you're a 'andsome one now ain't ya?" she muttered.

The young man chuckled again.

"You work here?" he asked, indicating the Withers' Grocery behind which they both stood.

"Ya ken say that," the girl groused as she slipped the knife into her belt and squatted by the bucket again. "Dinna be likin' it, though."

"But it's a living," he said as he took a bite of his apple. "Some people don't even have that."

"S'posin' that be true," she said, going about her duties.

"I've been in this area before," he admitted as he looked around, before fixing his gaze on her. "But you're new right? I'm sure I'd have noticed a pretty girl working here before now."

Erin stopped and slowly stood back up as a smile crept across her face.

"Oh?" she asked. "Come 'round a lot do ya?"

"Yes, sometimes." He moved closer to her. "I'm looking for a job honestly. Need to make some coin. I'm Bradley by the way." He held out his hand.

"Erin. Erin Brannigan." She grasped the proffered hand.

"Enchanted to know you."

She giggled as she tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear.

"Gon' wit' yerself."

"Is this place hiring? The Withers, right?"

"Nae'anymore," she admitted. "Me boss be takin' it over. Makin' it his own, 'e is."

"Oh?" He seemed surprised. "They sold it? Maybe your boss'll hire me."

"Nope," she said quietly with a serious look upon her face. "Look some fings ain't right 'ere, y'know. There's this fella me boss wants to deal wit' and nae inna friendly way. A thug type. Be lookin' to knock'em down."

Bradley's eyes narrowed.

"Your boss work for the Watch or something?"

"Hah, no! That'd be a sight! I'd not be 'angin' wit'im if 'e was."

"Ah," he nodded. "Sounds dangerous though. This business your boss is doing."

"Me boss be a dangerous man. Sharp, too, you'll see. Dinna 'ave all his lads 'ere yet. But when 'e does…" She clapped her hands together. "Bop! It'll be over then."

He nodded.

"But still, a pretty girl shouldn't be mixed up in this." He reached a tentative hand up and gently brushed her cheek.

She looked down with another giggle.

"Here," he said as he reached into his pocket and withdrew another large apple. "Something for the trouble of answering my questions."

She smiled then indicated the smaller shack tucked behind the grocery.

"Y'know I sleep there tonight. Stuck inna shed, I am." She looked at the young man. "Be gettin' lonely an' a might cold at night, it does. Ya ken be seein' your way 'ere again if ya want. Maybe later?"

"Um, wouldn't that upset your boss? I don't want to start any trouble with a dangerous man."

"Och, no. Be settin' a trap fer this fella 'e wants. Some bright prim inna suit, goes by the name o' Murlyn. Me boss won' be 'ere tonight at all. Jus' me and Mr. Fancy Tuddles, the scribe. Though _he_ gets ta be stayin' in the grocery itself, all warm."

She glanced over at the main building with a slight sneer on her face.

"Oh really? Just the two of you then?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Hm, maybe I will come back tonight after all. If you're sure."

"Ya been sweet ta me, unlike me boss. I like bein' sweet ta."

"Okay then." He smiled, then started off back down the alley. "I shall see you tonight, dear Erin."

She smiled back, holding his apple close to her face, and waved as he disappeared around the corner. She waited until the count of five, then her smile vanished only to be replaced by a scowl. She shook her head as she threw the apple aside.

"Chuffer," she grumbled, then a sly grin formed on her lips. "That was easier'n I figured it'd be."

* * *

"Thank you, dear lady," Tuddleston said to his newest customer as he handed back her change. "Do come again."

As the woman left with her purchase, James smirked.

"You seem to have an affinity for this sort of thing. Perhaps you should consider being a merchant."

"Mm, while I'll admit there are some merits to this occupation, I would not want to have this as a full time position," Tuddleston remarked as he turned to his comrade. "Stick me behind a desk, going over figures or writing up drafts. A bottle of sweet aged sherry from the fields near Saggunto within easy reach. My pipe on hand when I want a taste of my favorite blend. A locked door to turn away unwanted intrusions when I so desire. Give me that, instead of days filled with this drudgery."

James cocked an eyebrow.

"You've only been at it for about three hours. It's basically the same thing at the shop on Bleetmore."

"And we have what? Perhaps one client a month? The rest of the time I spend reorganizing my records, catching up on my perusals of obscure Gristian laws and documents, or sorting through my library."

He leaned against the front of the shop.

"I've had eighteen people already checking the wares today. They touch and poke, disturbing the displays, then I have to reorganize them again. And three have tried to bargain with me for a lower price. Quite audacious I must say. The prices are set fair enough, I assure you. Even cheaper than the vendors nearby. I know; I checked."

James found it difficult to hold back a chuckle. He was about to make a remark when Tuddleston straightened up and muttered quickly under his breath.

"Burgundy jacket."

The navy man turned and scanned the large market area. It took him only a moment to notice his target, flanked on either side by two others. The man was just under six feet tall, with his dark hair combed to the side. He had a white button down shirt of good make, black breeches, and dark leather boots of superior quality. The burgundy jacket finished his ensemble and gave him a distinctive if somewhat garish appearance.

"Time for introductions then," James muttered to his companion, as the leader of the Merry Boyz made his way to the Withers' Grocery.

"Well, hello hello," came the immediate greeting from the gangleader. "Seems we have a bit of a change in venue today." He tucked his thumbs into the top of his breeches as the two men behind him watched James and Albert carefully.

"Indeed," was the quick reply from the navy man.

"The Withers doin' well? Hired on some extra help since old man Withers got his arm all shucked and such?" Murlyn asked with a chuckle as he eyed the two unfamiliar men.

"Theodore Withers is no longer a concern," James replied smoothly. "He was needing to retire anyway."

"Oh?" the man in the burgundy jacket asked. "Is that so?"

"It is. I thought this area seemed like an ideal place to make my mark. And I have you to thank for that."

The criminal cocked an eyebrow, curiosity evident on his face.

"In what way?"

"By clearing the waters. Culling the sheep, and letting them know how things are to be run." He nodded. "Most impressive."

Murlyn chuckled and looked about casually.

"I truly have no idea what you are talking-"

"Please," James held up his hand. "We're all in on the game. And I'm smart enough to know who runs it." He turned to Tuddleston. "The special produce, my friend."

The scribe nodded and handed him a cabbage that had been tucked away.

"A gift," the dark-haired man said as he offered the fresh vegetable to the gangleader.

The criminal took the proffered cabbage, noting an odd clinking noise that emanated from it. He carefully opened the outer leaves. Within were ten golden coins worth ten each. A hundred Coin total.

His eyes widened, then he glanced up as James smiled.

"Three weeks 'rent' in advance. Plus a little extra to let you know I appreciate your efforts. I'm hoping to make good with the Merry Boyz, maybe even expand my own business here. Start some of my own operations. With your permission of course."

"Well now, this is a surprise," Murlyn admitted. "You seem to have potential."

At that moment, a young man of about twenty with slicked back dark hair made his way over to the criminal leader. The two flanking men let him pass unimpeded.

"Ah Bradley, my lad." Murlyn turned back to James. "Give me just a moment while I speak with my associate."

The navy man nodded as the youth whispered quickly to the burgundy-clothed man while using exaggerated gestures. Murlyn's eyes narrowed then they focused grimly on James as the youth finished.

"Everything alright?"

"Why yes, yes. It is." Murlyn stepped closer. "What was your name again?"

"James."

"Well then, James, I have no doubt that you'll get everything you deserve if you keep on your current path. In fact I guarantee it."

"Good to hear," he said with another smile.

"I must be off then, and make plans to… _accommodate_ you." The criminal gave a vicious grin. "Hope yours is a profitable day."

James nodded in reply, then watched as Mr. Murlyn and his three associates turned and slowly made their way out of sight. He waited a few minutes then turned to Tuddleston.

"Alright let's go."

The large man nodded once then set out a placard announcing the shop was temporarily closed. He quickly followed his companion inside the building, then locked the door behind them.

Within they found Erin sitting on the barrel again, her feet swinging back and forth as she munched on a pear.

"Well?"

"Tol'im," the young girl mumbled through her food. "Jus' la' ya said."

"And you think he believed you?"

The girl nodded her head and smiled, finally swallowing the large mouthful she had.

"Sent a pretty lad, they did. All proper. Thought 'e'd get me to spill clean." She chuckled.

"Probably the boy named Bradley that showed up," he said to Tuddleston who agreed quickly.

"Bradley it was," the Morlish girl admitted. "Nae as crisp a pickle as 'e thinks 'e is. Lad mighta been good fer a few snoggins. Maybe even a tuss twixt the sheets fer a day a'fore I'd chuck'im."

The large scribe seemed taken aback at the girl's blunt statement.

"Well, I say."

The girl laughed.

"Dinna get ya cheeks all rosy now, Mr. Fancy Tuddles. Ken 'andle a tosser like'im meself, I ken."

"Tuddleston," he corrected her again.

"Yep. Wot I meant. Tuddleston."

"Regardless, the trap has been baited," their leader interjected. "I'm sure we'll be _properly_ welcomed by Murlyn's men late tonight. Probably a party of seven or eight to make certain. I'll fetch the others just before dusk and have them lay in wait. You two need to check your arms; I want everything in preparation."

Tuddleston nodded solemnly and went behind the back counter where a large rifle case lay tucked away on the floor. He hoisted the black case onto the table, undid the latches and opened it. Within lay his blunderbuss.

A nearly antiquated weapon, the blunderbuss was a large-bored gun with an expanded muzzle to scatter shot at close range. It required neither great skill nor aim as its spread-shot ammunition could do wonders with clearing entire areas of enemy combatants. Like most weapons in use, the scribe's rifle had been modernized and its shells were the miniaturized whale oil tanks capped with brass hulls containing the lead shot.

After scrutinizing and polishing the unique rifle, Albert finally said, "I believe all is in readiness on our end. Regardless of their numbers this will give them pause in their pursuits."

Erin smirked grimly as the large man hefted the weapon with pride.

"Cor, be a sight nae ta miss for sure."

* * *

Bradley had done well and Mr. Murlyn was pleased.

The leader of the Merry Boyz had kept an eye on the troublemakers known as the Withers. The gang just couldn't properly function with such folk causing a ruckus. Mr. Withers had to suffer to get the point across and removing his arm, though a bit extreme for Bradley's taste, seemed to do the trick. Just to be sure though, his boss, being the sharp businessman he was, had told Bradley to watch for any changes in the Withers' activities. When he'd spotted the young girl, Erin, working outside the shed, he decided upon a quick plan to charm her into giving up any information she may have.

He chuckled quietly to himself.

The ploy worked well, too. She'd given up the secret plans of her boss, a criminal himself who planned to unseat Mr. Murlyn. Now Bradley had been sent back well after dark and with seven of the Merry Boyz to boot. He'd even been given Jenko, one of the toughest of the gang, as back-up!

The plan was simple. With only the scribe and the girl there, they were to ransack the place thoroughly, looting it and burning it to the ground. The scribe was to be questioned and then dealt with quickly, possibly killed. That was Jenko's department though. The girl was to be nabbed and taken back to the den. Since he was the one who gathered the information, Bradley would be allowed to keep her.

She seemed feisty enough, and he was certain she'd last a while. Even better, he could rent her out to the others if he needed extra coin. Perhaps even sell her if the sum offered was high enough.

"Here we are," Jenko growled, bringing Bradley back to the task at hand. "A couple of hours before midnight, and the place is already asleep."

The rough-looking man scratched the day-old stubble on his scarred chin as he eyed the establishment, before turning his watery gaze back to the younger man.

"Well now, lad, what's yer plan?" the man asked in his gravelly voice.

"You and those three can take the main building," he said, tilting his head toward the grocery. "Wilts and these other two are coming around the back with me to deal with the girl."

"Should we wait fer yer signal before goin' in?" the veteran thug asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Um, yes," his companion agreed. "That sounds like a good idea. Proceed when I give you the signal."

Jenko rolled his eyes as Bradley and his group left.

"Glad I could help."

…

…

Bradley led his men through the back-alley, coming out near the grocer's shed.

"Be careful with her, now," he said pointedly. "She is not to be harmed."

"Wot if she puts up a fight?" Wilts asked through his broken teeth.

The young man took a deep breath.

"Okay, she can be roughed up, to be made compliant I guess. But nothing permanent, is that clear?"

"Clear 'nuff."

They were about to proceed when a stray noise from the other side of the alley caught their attention.

"B-Bradley?"

The young man blinked in surprise at the familiar voice. It was Erin who stood wide-eyed at the four thugs just outside the shed.

"W-whatcha doin' wit' these others?"

A smirk twisted the young man's face.

"Coming back as I said I would. The boys just wanted a gander at the pretty girl I talked about is all."

"Nae, ya lyin' ta me," she muttered as she backed up, away from the alley and toward the rows of empty stalls making up the majority of the marketplace.

"Well, maybe they wanted a taste, too," he said in a cruel tone.

The girl's eyes widened in fear then she turned and bolted into the depths of the abandoned stalls.

"Get her," Bradley commanded as loudly as he dared, not wanting to draw too much attention this late at night.

The four men charged forth just as the girl ducked into the shadows. They spread out, canvassing a larger area, but staying within sight of each other.

"Keep your eyes open, she's rather small. And remember, nothing permanent."

They searched the area quickly, checking under tables, moving chairs aside, and pushing past carts all to no avail. After a few moments, Wilts came back to him.

"She's gone. What'll we do now?"

"No, no, no!" Bradley said in a frustrated tone. "Search again. She has to be here. She has to."

_-clump- -clump- -clump-_

A dull sound echoed somewhere from the darkness. Wilts tapped Bradley on the shoulder, and the young man nodded indicating he heard it too.

"Probably the girl," the thug said, his broken teeth showing as he grinned.

The four criminals gathered close again as the sound grew louder. It seemed to be slowly heading in their direction. In the dark, it was difficult to discern exactly what it was at first. Suddenly, a stern and slightly muffled male voice called out from the blackness.

"_Then Barrowe turned to find the cruel lot of them creeping amongst the shadows waiting to waylay the innocent, and the future High Overseer curled his lip in disgust…"_

"Wot's that?" Wilts asked as the sound grew louder.

_**-clump- -clump- -clump-**_

Bradley squinted to make out any movement, any shape as the steady noise echoed from their surroundings.

_**-Clump- -Clump- -Clump-**_

"_And Barrowe spoke, "My brothers, this unclean filth fears the light. Let Holger's justice be swift upon them…""_

A figure slowly materialized from the gloom, and Bradley realized the sound was the figure's heavy boots upon the packed earth. As he got closer, details could be made out: a heavy blue longcoat, gold trident-like symbols embroidered on the sleeves, a heavy war sabre grasped in his right hand as the left readied a pistol, and a glint of light shined off of the golden mask he wore.

"W-wha... I-it's an Overseer!" Wilts exclaimed in shock.

The figure drew nearer. Undeterred. Unafraid. He pulled the pistol up and paused only long enough to take aim at the stunned ruffians.

""…_and suffer none to live!""_

_**BLAM!**_

The steel projectile slammed into Bradley's left shoulder knocking him off his feet. The young man fell hard upon his back as the sounds of melee combat and desperate cries exploded about him.

"Gah! Ged'im, ged'im!"

"He's too quick!"

"Look out for his- _AIIIEEE!_"

"N-n-no! N-n-"

"Wait! Wait!"

A small _**-plumph-**_ echoed and then Wilts' severed head rolled into view as the sound of swordplay suddenly ceased. Bradley blinked in surprise then paled as a heavy boot stepped right in front of him.

"So, it takes four of you lowly rabble to pursue one young girl? Pathetic."

He looked up into the graven mask of his attacker.

"M-mercy? Please, let me live."

The grim figure reached down and hoisted the young man to his feet.

"Oh I'll let you live, you have my word on that," the Overseer promised, as ice-blue eyes filled with malice regarded him from behind the mask. "But mercy seems to be in short supply this night."

…

…

A pistol-shot sounded off somewhere in the distance.

"Stupid lad," Jenko grumbled with a shake of his head. "Drawing too much attention."

He looked down at the thug crouched before him and nodded.

"That was the signal, Billy. Do it."

The thug was squatting down in front of the door to the grocery. With a quick smile he slid two long thin metal wires out and began working at the lock. After a few moments, Jenko whispered again.

"C'mon, lad, c'mon."

"Gimme a second," came the reply. "I almost… ah, there!"

With a sharp click, the lock was opened.

"Excuse me!" came a cry from the behind them. "I've already paid my 'rent' to Mr. Murlyn. Is there a problem?"

The two rear most thugs spun on their heels, as a dark-haired man, sword in hand, moved toward them.

Just then, a small scattering of soot fell from the rooftop above them. One of the thugs glanced up only to see a short rat-faced man wearing odd goggles watching them. In his hand was a loaded pistol aimed down at them.

"Greetin's to ya."

_**-BLAM!-**_

One of the thugs slumped down dead as Billy called out.

"Jenko, it's a trap!" he pushed the door of the grocery open and was just starting to rise when movement inside caught his attention.

"We're closed," a rotund red-headed man said as he leveled a huge blunderbuss at the intruders.

_**-KWOOOM!-**_

Billy's face was obliterated and he slammed backwards, dead before he hit the floor. Jenko was caught mostly in the leg and fell down painfully. He heard another cry of pain, then suddenly a blood-coated sword blade tapped on his shoulder. He glanced up to see the dark-haired man standing above him.

"Mr. Tuddleston, some light if you'd please."

"As you wish."

A whale oil lamp was quickly lit and Jenko realized he was surrounded, and apparently the only member of his four man crew to still be alive.

"What'll we do with'im?" the rat-faced man asked as he clambered down from the rooftop.

"First we'll see how Ademar fared," the dark-haired leader replied.

As if on cue, a grim Overseer appeared dragging a wounded Bradley with him.

"The only survivor of his lot," the golden-masked individual informed them.

"Yeah, we got one of them, too," the short man said with a chuckle as he removed his goggles.

Jenko finally worked up the courage to speak.

"What's next? You have us. You won. Now what?"

The leader squatted down next to him, a cold smile upon his lips as he glanced between the two wounded thugs.

"Now? Now one of you gives up the location of his boss. I want information. Number of men, traps in place, any and everything of importance."

He leaned in close.

"And _that_ smart man gets to live while Ademar and Rollo deal with the other."

He indicated both the Overseer and the rat-faced man behind him.

"Sounds like a fair and _honest trade_ now, doesn't it?"


	5. Chapter 4: Murlyn's Merry Boyz

**A/N:**** Anybody else excited about the news of Dishonored 2 coming out? Hello! I'm def looking forward to it! :)**

**Anyway, here's my next chap featuring the exploits of our little heroes...**

* * *

**Favors**

**Ch. 4**

**Murlyn's Merry Boyz**

* * *

_**The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Third Month, the Month of Nets, 1837**_

_**Wrenhaven River Patrol, Watch Station 37**_

...

...

As the two young women waited in the hallway of the outpost, a Lower Watchman sat behind the duty desk trying to make notes on the daily roster. However, the fidgeting of the smaller girl upon the metal bench made this difficult.

"Please be still," he said, his thin face twisting into a grimace. "The sergeant will return momentarily."

"Thank you," the taller of the two visitors said with a pleasant smile as she lay a hand on her comrade's knee to still her movements.

"Dinna know if I'm likin' this plan," her younger companion muttered under her breath, low enough so only her friend could hear. She glanced nervously about the Watch Station, a place she spent a great deal of her life trying to avoid. "Dinna like comin' 'ere neither."

"It'll be fine, Erin," Etiennette assured her. It had barely been five minutes since the two of them made their inquiries to the duty guard, though time _was_ of the essence.

"Maybe 'e's not 'ere?" the Morlish girl whispered. "The officer we're needin' ta find, I mean."

"No," the blonde girl said with a slight shake of head, trying to maintain her confidence in spite of her growing concern. "He's going to be here. It's, what's the word Mr. Tuddleston would use? Imperative? Yes, it's imperative that the officer is here."

Erin gave a quick nod.

"Bein' worried, I am." She leaned back against the wall, and drew her legs up onto the bench. "Only them four 'gainst the rest o' Murlyn's boys."

The courtesan looked over at her as she continued.

"Put a dent inna gang fer sure, we did. But still be more'n a dozen of'em left, 'cordin' ta those two wot we nabbed." She rested her chin on her knees. "Our lads be havin' a rough go at their hideout."

"Yes," Etinnette agreed quietly as she glanced at a small, square piece of red paper in her hand. "The odds are not in their favor this time." She unfurled the paper, noting the distinctive symbol on it: a small triangle within a larger inverted triangle.

James had told her to take the slip of paper and show it to a Lieutenant Rolline of the Wrenhaven River Patrol stationed in this area. He'd given her specific instructions of what to do and what to say when she met the young officer. Instructions that in her worried state, she dreaded she might forget.

"Tryin' ta keep me safe, the boss is, sendin' me with you," the Morlish girl interrupted her thoughts. "But whose gonna keep _them_ safe? Addie…" she paused for a moment, "an' well, the boss an' the others too. Bein' outnumbered fer sure."

A quick smile appeared on the courtesan's face at Erin's hesitation. Though concerned for all of her fellows, it was quite evident how much the urchin adored the ex-Overseer. However, the young girl wasn't the only one who had someone she cared a good deal for heading into danger.

Etinnette's smile vanished as she looked down the hallway to where the Watch lieutenant should appear, but still there was no one. Rolline _needed_ to be here at the watch station, otherwise the Undertakers chances would be slim indeed.

* * *

Their chances were slim indeed.

As dawn threatened to break over the horizon, Tuddleston expertly steered the motorized coach through the side-streets toward their destination. James glanced at his Undertakers, their features barely discernable in the early morning light.

Valiant Ademar, clever Rollo, and loyal Tuddleston.

James nodded to himself. With these three at his side, he knew that however slight it may be, they may just have a chance.

"I still say we shoulda waited and tried contacting the Tyvian," Rollo grumbled as the carriage jostled down the uneven road. "Could snuff any spotters this gang might have. Lickety split."

James glanced back at him.

"With eight men missing from his gang?" The seaman shook his head. "No, even Murlyn would realize there were problems. He still has enough reserves to beat us. Our only hope now is to hit them quick and hard. Before they know the danger they're in."

"We're just trustin' the word of them two we caught, you realize that, don'tcha?" The short man smirked in derision. "And then you let'em both live? You're gettin' soft."

"They had no reason to lie at that point."

"'Cept them bein' criminals and all."

"Rollo. Enough."

Tuddleston slowed the vehicle.

"We're near the point you decided upon, James," the scribe announced.

Their leader nodded and looked to Ademar who was strapping his weapon belt to his waist.

"As we talked about, okay? Keep to the shadows as much as you can."

The young Overseer gave a half-grin as he reached for his mask.

"Skulking about the back-alleys like some ne'er-do-well is not what I was trained for." He glanced over at Rollo for a moment before addressing James again. "Perhaps others would be better suited to the task?"

Before Rollo could balk at the comment, James leaned forward and replied.

"You know why I need you to do this. Why you must use stealth."

The Overseer slid the mask on, and nodded.

"It shall be as you have asked," he said, his voice muffled behind the golden face-plate. "You have my word."

"Now, Ademar," Tuddleston interjected.

The young man gripped the railing on the back of the front seat, stood on the carriage's side-step and braced himself. As the vehicle neared an alley, he pushed off and landed on the cobblestone path, taking a few steps to reduce the impact from leaving the coach while it was still in motion.

James watched as his companion glanced about for a moment to make sure that he hadn't been spotted, then the dark-clad Overseer ducked quickly into the alley. The navy man turned forward with a satisfied look upon his face. One more step in the plan was accomplished. Soon they'd be at the villains' lair.

* * *

"Huh, well look at that. Spotters," Rollo groused triumphantly from his hidden location.

The three Undertakers were pressed close against an abandoned shop across the way from the hideout of Mr. Murlyn and his Merry Boyz. Their den, once named _Ichadol Tannery_, was a large set of buildings close to the Wrenhaven River. Near the front entrance was a small shed, upon which sat a sentinel smoking a cigarette while another slowly patrolled the empty street in front of the tannery.

"Yes," James agreed dryly. "I'm very glad you're not going to crow about how correct you were." He turned to look at his companion. "Especially seeing as how you need to take them out by yourself. As quiet as possible."

"Anythin' else, _boss_?" came the sarcastic retort.

"Yes, leave them alive," the navy man replied. Before Rollo could complain, he continued on. "As you were quick to point out, Jenko and Bradley are criminals, and may have been lying. If need be, we'll have to question those two if our previous information was wrong."

Rollo harrumphed as James smiled.

"It was _you_ who said we shouldn't trust our prisoners," James reminded his short companion.

He wasn't quite certain, but it almost sounded as if Rollo _growled_ lowly before disappearing into the shadows.

Tuddleston moved up and readied his blunderbuss rifle.

"Be prepared," James warned as he quietly drew his own pistol. "Rollo's good, but things could still go awry."

He retrieved an odd blade from a side compartment on his belt. The weapon was seven inches long, four of which were the blade itself; the remaining length was a unique hook rail that the navy man slid quietly along the underside of his pistol. The attachment clicked into place, resulting in the blade's four inches protruding just below the pistol's barrel, like a miniature version of a rifle's bayonet.

The two waited in silence, the sky overhead slowly becoming lighter with the passing minutes. Finally, they noticed a small, furtive figure leave the shadows and dash towards the foremost building of the tannery. He tucked himself neatly into a doorframe and waited until the patrolling guard was out of sight, then he dashed forward again.

Without a sound, the short figure made it smoothly to the shed atop which the sentinel sat. Putting out his cigarette, the sentry grabbed a bottle of whiskey and uncorked it as the intruder leapt up and caught the edge of the roof. Hoisting himself quickly, the small figure made it onto the roof and behind the sentry before the unaware guard finished his drink. A quick movement and suddenly the guard slumped over forward, unconscious.

"Hey Merks, what say we try fer a hand of Nancy afore we head off ta bed?" came a cry from the patrolling guard as he headed back toward the front entrance.

James cursed under his breath. _Of course._

"Merks? You didn't fall asleep up there did you?" The patrolling guard paused as he looked up.

No answer.

"Merks?" The guard put his hand to the pommel of his weapon and moved forward slowly.

As he got closer, the short figure on the roof popped up and flung an object toward him.

"Hey, you're not-"

_**-criish-**_

The sentry's unneeded whiskey bottle smashed fully into the guard's face, both silencing him and stunning him at the same moment. Before he could recover, the attacking figure leapt off the roof and landed squarely upon him, driving him into the ground. A quick thump to the head and the guard ceased all movement.

James and Tuddleston left their hiding spot and quickly traversed the distance until they all stood in front of the tannery. Rollo tilted his head towards the unconscious man.

"Battered but alive, just as ya wanted."

James smirked then knelt down and quickly went through the man's pockets. He found bits of copper wire no doubt salvaged from some old machinery and a few loose coins, but nothing else.

"He doesn't appear to have the key," he mused aloud. "Guess the one up on the shed has it."

Rollo nodded nonchalantly in agreement, then his eyes narrowed.

"Oh and let me guess which of us gets to climb up there again and retrieve it," the short man grumbled.

Before anyone could reply, a quick clacking sound came from inside the front door of the main building. The three companions had no time to vacate the area before the door promptly swung open.

"Alright, you louts, shift change," muttered a grizzled individual who immediately paused mid-stride as he spotted them hovering over the body of one of his gang. The man was quick-witted though and instantly drew his pistol.

_**-thunk-**_

One of Rollo's heavy throwing daggers imbedded itself into the thug's neck before he could either utter a warning or aim the pistol. He stumbled backwards into the doorway and fell heavily to the ground, his pistol discharging as it hit the stonework.

_**BLAM!**_

The three Undertakers exchanged furtive glances with each other at the sudden loud noise.

"Perhaps they didn't hear?" Tuddleston offered.

"Alarm, you knackers!" came a cry of warning from deeper within the complex. "We're being attacked!"

Rollo drew another dagger as well as one of his own pistols as James plunged forward with a shake of his head.

"Never can be easy, can it?" the navy man complained to no one in particular.

* * *

Despite being fully attired in his Overseer's uniform, Ademar made little sound as he crept the dark alleyways. This part of the Schauke Dockyards saw little traffic at night. Added to this fact that a good percentage of the buildings were abandoned made stealth even easier.

He glanced around quickly to get his bearings, nodded once to himself, then advanced with purpose to a wooden edifice set back from the main thoroughfare. He spotted a lamppost, currently unlit, and then he turned to his right to face a worn bulletin board. Notices and posters hung discolored and aged from exposure to the elements, their tattered corners catching the slight breeze in the area. To the immediate left of the bulletin board was a tall but narrow wooden fence, maybe seven feet high and three feet in width.

A low grin worked its way to his lips as he spotted the secret entrance that their captives had mentioned. He gripped the far sides of the fence tightly and with a quick yank, pulled it free exposing a long and narrow corridor that trailed off into the darkness. Setting the fence aside as quietly as he could, he gingerly made his way down the confining space.

His overcoat occasionally scraped the close walls, and he had to turn his body to make any reasonable progress. He was beginning to grow concerned at his tenuous position should melee break out, when the corridor finally opened into a larger and thankfully wider back-alley.

Trash and debris lay scattered about the area. Broken barrels and carts, empty crates with faded print, and even a busted basin were in various forms of clutter and disuse. The most disturbing adornment was a lone male corpse slumped partially inside a recessed doorway, large black flies buzzing about him.

Ademar muttered a quick, silent plea to the Abbey for the unknown man's spirit, that it may become one with the Cosmos and avoid ensnarement by the Outsider. He paused a moment during his soundless entreaty and wondered at the unfortunate man's fate. No dried blood about the eyes, no blistered lips; he hadn't succumbed to the plague, apparently. What then had befallen the poor-

"Hand it over, Drot, you chuffer," said a grumpy voice from the shadows.

Ademar turned at the sudden noise, his hand quickly grasping the pommel of his sheathed sabre. He assumed a low, half-crouched stance and moved as quiet as he could to the source of the noise.

"Blow off," a reply came from a second voice higher pitched than the first. "Get your own."

"Ya both need to piss off," muttered a third. "I'ma one who bought the rum."

"Hah," the first voice said with a laugh, "George, you ain't purchased nothing in your life, you thieving bastard."

Ademar approached soundlessly as the three disembodied voices argued over their drink. As he got closer, he spotted a low glow of a small lamp near the base of a flight of metal stairs set along the row of the tightly packed houses. Vaguely outlined in the glow were three figures.

He smirked behind the gold plated Overseer's mask as he stood to his full height.

"I need directions, good gentlemen," he said in a loud voice, startling his audience. "I ask that you provide them to me."

"Wussat?" the second voice grumbled.

The air vent of the lamp was adjusted, brightening the flame and illuminating the area. A tinge of light revealed him to the three alley-bashers.

"Outsider's Eyes!" exclaimed the third individual, a short, solidly built man.

"Don't mention the Outsider, you idiot George," the first man admonished. "Don't you see that there's an Overseer."

Ademar took a step forward.

"I do not have time for your quarreling. I need to know the location of the secreted exit of the Merry Boyz." He glanced about the area and indicated the gantry lining the second stories of the houses. "I've heard there's a doorway on the next level above that leads directly to their domicile."

"Oh is there?" the second man said with a cruel smirk.

"Yes," he said and focused his gaze upon them again. "And you will show it to me."

"I'll show you this," the man said and lunged forward, a short club in his hand.

Ademar easily side-stepped the man's clumsy attack, and slapped him soundly in the back as he went by. The added momentum propelled the thug forward and he stumbled and fell hard onto the ground.

Turning back to the other two, Ademar slid the sabre, still sheathed in its scabbard, out of his sword belt. Though necessary to slay some of their attackers when the Merry Boyz assaulted them at the Withers' Grocery, James had wanted to avoid as much additional bloodshed as possible. Ademar would do his best to oblige his friend.

"Get'em George!" the first man exclaimed as he suddenly rushed forward. "He can't get us both!"

The man moved to tackle the tall Overseer. Just as he closed the distance, Ademar swung the pommel upward, connecting solidly with the brash attacker's chin. With a grunt, the man stumbled forth and collapsed unconscious in a heap.

Ademar approached the final man, and slowly drew his blade free. Leveling the tip at the thug, he spoke.

"Now then, _George_. About that entrance."

"U-up the stairs and three ta the left," George muttered. "Three ta the left."

"The Abbey thanks you for your assistance."

…

…

The battle was well under way by the time the secret door gave way to Ademar's heavy boot. He quickly took in the scene.

The doorway through which he entered led to a gantry platform. The platform was attached to the western side of a large room, once an operational tannery, and afforded a commanding view of the fight going on down below. Illuminated by whale oil lamps, combatants were already scrambling about madly, pouring forth from a common area to the north to engage the trio of invaders that had come in via the double doors to south.

"Let none circle past!" James ordered his companions. "Rollo, to the right!"

The short criminal gave a nod and fired off his pistol, hitting one of the defenders in the shoulder. The wounded enemy stumbled back, his morale broken.

"Mr. Tuddleston, clear out that group behind the table!"

"As you say," the heavyset scribe acknowledged as he brought his huge blunderbuss to bear.

_**-KWOOM!-**_

A small end table had been turned on its side to provide partial cover for three of the Merry Boyz. After Tuddleston's blast, however, the table became only so many splinters and the crouching thugs were knocked over and showing wounds not only from the shot but from stray wooden fragments as well.

Ademar's eyes narrowed as he watched the conflict transpire ten feet below him. A quick count of their enemies indicated a higher number than those suggested by James' captives, Jenko and Bradley. Then again, not all of the defenders seemed to be members of the Merry Boyz. Some wielded the cleavers and dressed as the common thugs that compromised the gang, that much was true. But there were other individuals as well, with lighter weight clothing, and bearing small axes or hatchets.

A clatter on the steps leading up to his platform drew his attention. Three of these hatchet-wielding enemies had apparently noticed Ademar, and surged at him, their battle frenzy overcoming the common sense of attacking an armed Overseer.

He drew his pistol and shot the first man in the leg. The attacker screamed in pain and crumbled to the side, his weapon falling from his grasp. The second roared a war cry as he came forth. Ademar flipped the pistol in his hand, gripping it by the barrel. He caught the offender's hatchet blow with his firearm and punched the man in the face with the pommel of his sabre. The man collapsed back and fell down the stairs.

The final attacker leapt deftly over her comrades' bodies before closing the distance and presented a much different target than those he had seen so far. She was a tall beauty, with smooth tanned skin, full hips and a trim toned body. The blue scarf tied about her forehead held her long, dark brown hair away from her face while bits of bone and shell woven into small braids clinked as she moved. A tattoo on her bare right shoulder showed a pair of crossed black hatchets similar to the pair she currently brandished.

"Now you face Markessa the Golden," she bragged as she swiped at him. "Wielder of the Twain Hatchets."

Markessa was a known pirate captain in the league of Jerrod of Caltan, Hangin' Dan, or Lizzy Stride. She was a vicious woman, and a formidable adversary known for her skill in combat.

"Never heard of you," Ademar lied derisively as he went into a defensive posture.

Her dark brown eyes flashed in fury.

"Aye then, you'll know me intimately in a moment," she said, swinging the right hatchet. "I've killed two of your kind before, Overseer."

Ademar parried the blow with his pistol, and twisted away from her. She swung the left hatchet downward but he was able to catch it on his sabre and push her off.

The pirate leader backed away and regarded her opponent for a moment. His position on the platform didn't allow her to flank or circle around him, so she lunged again, this time leading with the left hatchet. He moved to the side, but the woman slashed viciously at his mid-section with her right weapon. He barely managed to pull back as the blade tore through his jacket and removed one of the buttons.

"Hah!" she taunted as her lips twisted into a perverse grin of triumph. "All men fall to the fury of Markessa the Golden!"

She pressed her advantage and led with the left hatchet again, but this time Ademar parried its descent with his sabre, twisting their blades and locking them together. As the woman brought her right weapon around, he readied his pistol again, stopping the blow and locking that weapon as well.

He extended his arms to either side, using his superior reach to stretch her hatchets away, and consequently drawing the woman closer to him.

"Pardon my methods, my lady," he apologized. "They are a bit uncouth, but I don't have time to waste on such a skilled opponent."

A look of perplexity shown in her dark eyes at his comment. She didn't have long to ponder his words, however, as he tilted his head back then shoved it violently forward, smashing his heavy golden mask into her unprotected face.

She immediately dropped both her weapons, stumbled back a step on unsteady legs and stared at him as her head wobbled a bit. Then suddenly her eyes rolled up into her head and Markessa the Golden collapsed unconscious at his feet.

"Good job, Ademar!" a cry came from below.

The Abbey-man turned to see James watching him from below, a smile upon his face.

"We've routed this batch, but there seems to be more coming," the navy man announced, indicating a large door situated in the northern wall. The sounds of men running and calling threats emanated from behind it.

"Rollo!" James said, turning to the short criminal. "The barracks are situated to the east according to our captives." He indicated a doorway on a platform on the exact opposite side of the room from where Ademar was standing. "Make sure none of the Merry Boyz are there. We can't risk being flanked."

"Fine," the man grumbled and quickly clambered up the flight of stairs.

"I wonder why they weren't in their beds to begin with," Tuddleston wondered aloud, as Rollo vanished into the side corridor.

"It seems they had visitors this morning," James replied, indicating the wounded and unconscious men attired in the light clothing and armed with the hatchets. "Pirates I'd say, by the looks of them."

"Our task has just become eminently more difficult," the redheaded scribe muttered.

"More difficult, but not impossible," their leader said as he reloaded his pistol, and indicated to the others to do the same.

The northern door suddenly burst open as another gang of the ne'er-do-wells charged forth.

"Heave to, my friends, and prepare to ride out the rest of this storm!" James exclaimed as he aimed his pistol at the first Merry Boy to come within range.

…

…

Rollo had barely made his way down the side corridor when the sounds of pistol-shot and swordplay resumed from the tannery behind him. He readied one of his own pistols and for a moment considered going back and helping his comrades. But James was correct; he needed to investigate this part of the complex and make sure it was vacant of any hostile enemies.

He drew a long knife with his right hand, and used it to gently push open the first door he came across. The hinges were blessedly silent and he aimed his pistol to cover the room's interior as he peered inside. A series of small bunks and footlockers greeted him, but none of the Merry Boyz were present. A quick nod of satisfaction to himself and he was off to the next room.

He investigated three similar rooms along the hallway. All bunks and footlockers. All empty of enemies.

A final door remained closed at the far end of the corridor, this one a heavy metal thing with iron hinges. Flickering light filtered underneath the frame, indicating either a whale light lamp or a large candelabrum – most likely the latter judging by the rapidity of the flickering. As he drew near, he heard a light rustling, like a chain moving perhaps, coming from beyond the closed barrier.

He scowled and held his pistol level. Creeping forward, he tucked his knife away for a moment and gently turned the doorknob. As the latch bolt scraped out of the door frame, he pushed the heavy door open, took a half-step inside the doorframe, and aimed his pistol at the sole visible occupant.

His eyes widened in shock as the figure whimpered.

"Bleed me dry," he half-muttered as he lowered his gun.

There against the far wall, on a large metal-framed bed was a young woman of perhaps twenty years of age. Her dark tresses tumbled in a mess across her face and partially obscured her eyes which looked on him in horror. Her white and light tan clothing was dirty and disheveled, and she seemed to have no shoes at all. Her most disturbing adornment was a metal collar around her neck which was bolted to the far wall via a thick chain.

She blinked at him and shivered as she pressed against the far wall, trying to stay out of his reach.

"Please don't," she sobbed quietly with a shake of her head.

He overcame his initial surprise.

"I'm not here to hurt ya, lass," he tried to assure her from the doorway. "Me and my lads, we're dealin' with these Merry Boyz. Lickety-split. We'll, uh, free ya in just a moment. Alright?"

The girl continued cowering against the far wall.

"Um, okay then," he said. "I'll try and find a key and be right back fer ya. Let ya outta that thing, okay?"

The girl seemed worried and her eyes darted about the room, then finally she shook her head.

"I can't do this anymore," she muttered, appearing to come to a difficult decision. Worry mixed with the slightest amount of hope upon her face as she leaned forward. "There's two of them hiding behind the open door," she whispered.

Rollo blinked, unsure if he heard her correctly, when suddenly the large door - which he hadn't checked behind - swung towards him.

"Wha-OOOF!" he cried out, as the iron barrier slammed into him. Despite his initial surprise, he twisted his body and managed to push his way fully into the room as a previously concealed thug charged him. His opponent was a short dark-haired man who was tackling him to the floor before he could bring his pistol to bear. Stronger than he appeared, the thug gripped his wrists and pinned his arms against the floorboards.

Another hidden thug, a tall blond man with a brutal sneer upon his face, moved not to assist his comrade with Rollo, but instead made his way to the shackled girl upon the bed.

"All you had to do was be quiet," he hissed, as he held a four foot length of chain in his right hand. He lifted the chain up as the girl shook her head, raising her hands protectively in front of her. The man slammed the heavy chain down on her as she screamed in pain, unable to flee. He raised the chain to assault his bound victim again.

"Ya damn blighters!" Rollo shouted as he struggled to throw his attacker off. He couldn't raise his arms or aim his weapon at the man holding him. With a dark scowl, he twisted his left wrist, and managed to cock the hammer back on his pistol. He aimed as well as he could, not on his personal attacker, but at the man beating the girl, and then he squeezed the trigger.

_**BLAM!**_

The metal slug caught the blond man in the back of his left calf, crippling him and dropping him to the floor. The sound surprised the dark-haired thug who had been holding him down, and his grip loosened as he leaned back.

It was the opening Rollo needed.

With a quick surge, he pushed up and threw his attacker off. He drew his knife quickly and attacked, plunging the blade repeatedly in the dark-haired thug's face and throat. The thug fell onto his side, the knife buried to the hilt in his neck.

The blond man started to recover, but Rollo scampered to his feet and lunged at him. The two fell to the floor once again, and Rollo scooped up the length of chain that the thug had dropped.

"Like ta beat on the helpless, eh?" he cursed the man as he wrapped the chain around his throat. "Known bastards like you all my life. Always the big man. Always attacking the smaller, the weaker."

He tightened the length of chain, the links biting deep into the man's throat as he lifted and slammed the thug's head in the floorboards over and over.

"Not so tough when ya face someone who can fight back now, are ya?" he growled as the man gurgled and struggled beneath him. He tightened the chain even further. "Answer me, ya bastard! Answer me!"

After a moment, the man ceased all movements and slumped to the floor, dead.

"Didn't think so," Rollo muttered as he released the chain with a sneer. He sat staring at his victim, catching his breath, until a slight rustle on the bed drew his attention.

He looked up to see the girl eyeing the dead thug.

"Sorry. Ya shouldn't have seen that." He pushed off the body and looked away from the girl. "Ya suffered enough as it is."

He moved to retrieve his pistol and knife.

"I'll fetch the others. They'll, uh, know what to do with ya." He nodded to himself then moved toward the door.

"No, please!" the girl beseeched him from the bed.

He turned and looked at the dark-haired girl who had tears in her eyes.

"What if more of them come?" she asked, indicating the two deceased thugs. "Please, don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone."

The short man blinked at the girl's words, paused a moment, then finally he nodded to her.

"Alright lass," he said quietly.

He reloaded his pistol and pulled out three of his throwing knives, setting them down on the mattress near the girl within easy reach.

"It'll be alright, lass," he repeated, as he gave her his best reassuring smirk. "Ol' Rollo's got ya now. Nobody, an' I promise ya nobody, is gonna hurt ya again."

…

…

"Press them!" James called out as he and Ademar fought the Merry Boyz. "Keep them from flanking us."

Ademar nodded as he swung his pistol, catching a man on the temple with the heavy weapon. The man fell down stunned.

James parried a wild swing by a thug wielding a knife. He turned the man aside and punched him in the face with the pommel of his sword. The man slumped back, unconscious.

Another blast from Tuddleston's massive rifle scattered what little courage the remaining gang members had.

"Outta my way!" one of the Merry Boyz screamed, tearing past his fellows. His companions followed suit, exiting the large room and fleeing out of the front entrance to the south.

Ademar looked at James, eager to pursue them, but his leader shook his head.

"Not yet. Reload your weapons, check your blades." James turned to Tuddleston. "How many shots do you have left for that monster of yours?"

"Four," the large man said, trying to catch his breath. He'd been caught twice with minor wounds, and leaned heavily on one of the iron support beams in the middle of the room.

James gave a short nod, recognizing that his friend was not used to such physical efforts.

"Rollo's not back yet. Mr. Tuddleston, stay here. Guard the south entrance. Keep it locked and let none of these blackguards come back to catch us from behind."

"I will do my best to comply," the scribe agreed with a nod of his own, appreciative of having a chance to sit.

James himself had been slashed once across his left shoulder by a lucky blow, but the wound seemed superficial at best. He turned to the ex-Overseer.

"You alright? Did they strike you? Any debilitating wounds?"

The ice blue eyes narrowed behind the golden mask.

"I hope you're not serious," the young warrior said in a sardonic tone.

"Very well," James replied with a smirk. "We should press our advantage. But that means it'll be just the two of us. Murlyn's still unaccounted for. I doubt there's many of his Merry Boyz left, but these…" He tapped his boot against an unconscious man lying upon the floor bearing a tattoo of two crossed hatchets on his shoulder. "Seems our Mr. Murlyn is into smuggling as well."

"I've dealt with their leader," Ademar said, pointing to the crumpled form of Markessa by the gantry stairs. "Hopefully their morale will be fragile without her."

"Agreed." James headed north towards the doors from which their opponents had emerged, Ademar a step behind. Pushing aside the barrier, the two military men proceeded cautiously.

This area seemed a storage room or small warehouse. Supplies of various types, both dried and canned foodstuffs, bolts of cheap cloth, numerous tools, and crates of different sizes were all piled within. Nothing seemed particularly important or valuable, so they pressed on through to the large door to the north, a broad single slab of steel designed to rise vertically.

"Dock entrance?" Ademar asked in a subdued tone.

"More than likely."

They searched in the dim light for a moment, and found a chain hoist-and-pulley system operating the door.

"They'll hear for certain," James whispered as he eyed the heavy device.

Ademar offered his pistol.

"I'll raise it and you deal with any enemies."

James nodded, gripped a pistol in each hand and crouched low, as Ademar began hoisting up the door. Iron grated on iron as the heavy barrier moved slowly upwards. The navy man aimed quickly, scanning the area underneath the door for any movement but there was none.

Raising the door up about four feet, Ademar hooked the chain on a large steel nail protruding near the entrance. He retrieved his pistol and then drew his sabre once again.

The two ducked under and continued on, stepping onto a small boardwalk that followed the tannery and the buildings on either side. Large stacks of crates obscured their immediate view of the Wrenhaven and a short wooden barrier prevented any movement to the direct right. Ademar indicated the path to the left and James nodded in consensus.

They crept along the wooden walkway, coming to a short flight of stairs. Descending, they scanned the area carefully, trying to make out any movement in the early morning light. Deep shadows and the lapping of the water along the boardwalk were all that greeted them.

The path split, one way heading north which had a vague outline of a ship, a fishing trawler but the look of it, docked at it. The other continued hugging the buildings that made up the water front.

Ademar turned back to him, as if inquiring which way they should go. James was about to respond, when a small red light flickered to life on the deck of the trawler. A floodlight came on a moment later, bathing the two military men in its beam.

"Thar they are!"

"Move!" James yelled as he shoved Ademar forward.

A whirling mechanical noise emanated from the ship as the young Overseer stumbled ahead. James, himself, turned to head back up the flight of stairs when he slipped on the wooden walkway.

"Thar splittin' up!" a cry came from an unseen person on the trawler. "Fire! Fire now!"

The navy man needed no more urging. He scrambled to his feet and bolted up the short flight of stairs as a repeating sound of _**-toom- -toom- -toom- **_echoed off the ship. A moment later the area Ademar and he had just vacated was engulfed in volatile fire.

He dove in front of the large stack of crates as the dock was briefly illuminated by the explosion. He started climbing to his feet when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He instinctively rolled out of the way, but not quick enough to avoid a slashing wound to his upper left arm.

He tumbled into a waiting crouch and locked his gaze upon his assailant. Outlined by the fire behind him was Mr. Murlyn, leader of the Merry Boyz, a short sword in his hand. A trail of blood trickled off the blade and dripped onto the deck as the gang leader sneered.

"Come to try and take what is mine, eh?" the man in the burgundy jacket said with a growl. He jerked a thumb at his chest. "I've cleared this area. Me. I'll not let another usurp my place."

James tightened his grip on his pistol but the wound Murlyn inflicted upon him, which was deeper than he initially thought, sent shocks of pain at the effort. His aim would surely be compromised. Mindful of his injury, he slowly got to his feet, and drew his own officer's blade.

"I'm not here to usurp your position," he said slowly, making sure each word was clear. "I'm here to end your little reign of terror. To prevent you from threatening any more innocents with your savagery."

He leveled the sword's blade at his opponent, as Murlyn cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh damn me," the criminal said, "you're one of _those_? Oh my." He shook his head and laughed. He finally sighed and with a look of disappointment he moved into an _en garde_ stance. "C'mon then, _hero_, bring me to justice or whatever nonsense."

Behind him, James could hear the mechanical launcher on the ship's deck as the crew repositioned it.

"The man, the Overseer, he's thar!" came the cry again. "Fire quick!" Another volley sounded, followed by another series of explosions.

A shot rang out and suddenly the floodlight went dark.

"The blighter's done shot'er out! Watch fer'im, lads! Watch fer'im!"

Murlyn scowled as James nodded at Ademar's quick thinking. The navy man led with a vicious overhead slash intending to finish his foe quickly, but the criminal sidestepped the blow. He moved in, and swung again, aiming for the mid-torso, but Murlyn pulled back. With a grimace, the criminal taunted him.

"I thought you'd be a problem," he said as he swung his own sword, a quick slash which James neatly parried. "But you had me, I'll grant. Posing as another like me. Posing as someone wanting what's mine."

"It was never yours," James growled, disdain and impatience getting the better of him. The dock was rocked again as the trawler continued to fire upon his unseen friend. He needed to end this fight as soon as possible so he could aid Ademar, but Murlyn was more skilled with the blade than he had suspected.

"Then whose was it?" the gang leader taunted. "I put forth the effort, and had to relocate to this pathetic stretch of the city. And _still_ I turned a profit." He seemed particularly proud of his efforts.

"The innocents who make this area their home," James returned as he lunged forward. Murlyn backed up once more, into the stack of crates. "Those who spend their whole lives toiling for little to no reward. Those like the Withers."

Murlyn's eyes widened in surprise, then disgust overcame his features.

"That old pair?" He shook his head again as understanding dawned. "Never learn do they? Well, when I'm finished with you, I'll be sure to pay them one last visit. There's not much profit in revenge, but a good deal of satisfaction to be had for certain."

The military man continued to press ahead, thrusting at his opponent. With little room to maneuver, Murlyn was barely able to dodge the first swing, but the second caught him on the left shoulder. Another quick slash and the gang leader was bleeding from the forearm as well.

The area abruptly brightened, drawing the attention of both combatants. A second later, a voice boomed forth, broadcast over a portable loudspeaker.

"_Attention, you on the vessel! This is Lieutenant Rolline of the Wrenhaven River Patrol. Cease and desist any hostile action or suffer the might of the City Watch!"_ The sound of several mechanized heavy gun batteries swiveling to take aim followed. _"This is your first and final warning!"_

Relief flooded over him momentarily. Etinnette and Erin had not failed him; they'd managed to get to Rolline in time, and the young City Watch Officer made good on his debt.

Murlyn was not so elated.

As cries of panic and shouts of _"I surrender!" _echoed from the pirate trawler, the leader of the Merry Boyz cursed.

"Damn you! Damn you and all your kind!" he shrieked as he stabbed at James. The navy man was ready though and blocked the blow, locking their swords and leaned forward, pinning the criminal in place.

Murlyn spit in his face.

"The Void take you!"

James was stunned at first, but fury soon took hold. Fury led to anger and anger overcame pain. His grip tightened on his pistol again and he thrust the weapon forward, driving the four-inch blade attachment deep into Murlyn's side.

The gang leader squawked in pain, then paled visibly as his eyes went wide. His grip loosened on his short sword, and the weapon fell to the hard wood of the deck.

The leader of the Undertakers withdrew the blade and stepped back, the motion causing Murlyn to collapse to his knees.

"M-mercy," he stuttered, a hand to his gut, trying to stem the blood loss.

James cocked the hammer back on the pistol. His anger giving him the strength needed to hold the weapon steady. He aimed the barrel at the criminal's temple.

"Mercy?" he said, his lips curled in revulsion. "What mercy did you give the Withers when you beat them? When you ran the railcar over the old man's arm? When you inflicted pain on the innocents?"

An image flashed in his mind - a memory, dark and buried. The beautiful face of his dearest friend, his cousin, grey and silent in death as she lay stretched on a cold stone slab.

"What mercy was _she_ given?"

His arm shook with barely contained rage as the criminal quivered at his feet. Then slowly, inexorably, calm returned. Training took hold, and control once again was his.

"No," he said, with a shake of his head as he lowered the weapon. "You'll not get a quick death from me. The hangman's noose, or maybe even a firing squad. But it's a death you'll have to wait for. That you'll know is coming. Something you can think about alone in your cell."

He stepped back and turned to catch the attention of the Wrenhaven River Patrol when he spotted Ademar standing quietly behind him. The ex-Overseer's ice blue eyes regarded him solemnly through the slits in his mask.

"And how long were you there?" he asked as he cocked his eyebrow.

"Long enough to give you aid should you require it," the young warrior admitted, his voice muffled by the golden face-plate.

"You weren't going to stop me? From denying him mercy?"

"I saw no need," his companion replied. "I knew you would do the right thing."

James chuckled.

"You have more faith than I, that's for certain."

This time it was the young man who chuckled.

"I knew your actions would be just. It's why I follow you." He nodded. "It's why we all follow you."

"Fair enough," James said. Weariness from the early morning's activities began to take their toll as he finally spotted Lieutenant Rolline and some of his men coming their way. "Then let's gather the others. It's time to go home."


	6. Chapter 5: 'Doctor' Vivianna Grey

**A/N:**

**For the character of Vivianna Grey I combined character traits of Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler (taken mostly from the way the character was excellently portrayed by Rachel McAdams in the 2009 _Sherlock Holmes_ film), and finally Marie Doro - a stage and film actress of the silent film era who was intelligent, an expert on Shakespeare and Elizabethan poetry, and possessed a penetrating humor and a sometimes acid wit.**

**Consequently, Vivianna is a highly intelligent, highly observant, and very complicated character.**

**And so, here is my latest offering...**

* * *

**Favors**

Chapter 5

"**Doctor" Vivianna Grey**

* * *

_**The Second Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837**_

_**The Tailors' District**_

_**Mid-morning**_

…

…

A lone rail car drove along the thoroughfare, the occasional spark flashing off the wheels as it followed the four tracks throughout the district. Few of the citizens took note of the vehicle though, even when a solitary rat made the poor decision to explore the streets of Dunwall at that particular time, nearly getting sliced in two.

The overhead loudspeaker emitted a pealing, mechanical signal drawing the attention of all within range of the sound.

"_Attention Dunwall citizens,"_ the speaker began, followed by an all too familiar announcement.

"_The_ _Lady Emily Kaldwin was abducted over two months past at the moment of her mother's terrible murder. Anyone with information leading to the location or return of the daughter of our beloved, late Empress is required to speak to the City Watch at once."_

Another signal echoed.

"_The Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island nears completion," _the speaker announced. _"All privately owned and commercial ships are asked to file strict charters during this time. City officials continue to remind the citizens of Dunwall that supply routes to complete the Lighthouse need to remain unhindered from morning until midnight, daily. The Lord Regent personally thanks you for your cooperation during this stressful time."_

A third signal followed.

"_Citizens and visitors of our fair city, the unidentified murderer known simply as the Beast of Whitecliff has struck again. The City Watch has now advised the start of curfews on a District by District basis. Contact your local branch of the City Watch to see if your District will begin these proceedings. That is all."_

A final clang sounded the end of the mid-morning announcements.

The rail car pulled onto a small turn station and then parked off the main railway near _Ranker's Steel Products_ on Myrstein Lane. Freshly polished, the black vehicle was smaller than that used by the military, but sleeker in design. On the back panel, just below the rear view port was a stylized symbol of a wolfhound's head in white, illustrating that the car's owner was allied with, and consequentially subordinate to, the affluent House Carmine.

The left door opened and out stepped a large, brutal-looking man, clean-shaven with dark hair, and even darker eyes. He was dressed in the sky blue uniform of the Estate Officers - those private members of the Watch assigned to protect specific important persons of the city. He surveyed the area quickly, one hand on the grip of his pistol, the other on the pommel of his sheathed sword. There were only a handful of people visible, none of which seemed to be paying the rare vehicle any mind. Satisfied there was no threat to his ward, he turned back to the iron and steel vehicle.

"The area seems clear, my lady, and safe enough," he said, his voice deep and smooth, with a tone hinting at a sharper mind that his thuggish appearance belied.

He opened the right-side door revealing a family crest of a golden bittern against a grey field. He leaned forward, offering assistance to the remaining occupant. A white-gloved hand reached up and gripped his.

"Thank you, my dear Thave," the young woman said, her voice clear, as she stepped gingerly out of the rail car. She glanced briefly about the area, before focusing her attention on Bleetmore Way which lay before her.

At five-foot-eight, Vivianna Grey was an attractive young woman in her mid-to-late twenties, and her mixed Gristian and Serkonan heritage gave her smooth skin a light tawny-beige tone. Her full lips, penetrating light brown eyes, and alluring features marked her as quite the beauty, and her short dark red hair was, as always, fixed in some fashionable style further enhancing her appearance. Her movements were sure and precise, hinting at an athletic build, yet she still had the poise and grace of one quite comfortable in a woman's body.

Currently, she was attired in cream-colored linen trousers with dark brown leather boots that came up to her mid-calf. Her dark grey frock coat had fitted sleeves and short tails, and its velvet collar was wide and deep to show off the embroidered purple and black waistcoat adorned with brass buttons. A matching purple and black cravat contrasted nicely with her cream-colored linen shirt to finish her ensemble.

"No sword today, my lady?" her sentinel asked.

She sighed briefly.

"Unfortunately no," she said. "Papa doesn't approve when I have it upon my hip. While I may defy the constraints of society from time to time, I don't wish to test the boundaries with him so much, especially at the moment."

She turned to look back at Thave who had an eyebrow cocked.

"Oh," she replied with a scowl. "You were being sardonic. How droll."

He eyed her attire with a slightly disapproving stare.

"As my lady wishes."

She noticed the look.

"Oh come now," she said turning to face him fully. She placed her gloved hands on her hips and smiled. "I like the way this feels; much improved over some dress or tightly fitted velvet pantsuit better designed for sitting primly and properly. More freedom of movement as well."

She shifted her weight to one hip, then to the other.

"Besides," she said with a wink. "You have to admit I _do_ fill this out rather nicely."

He just smirked as he shook his head.

"Now then, to the matter at hand," she spun around again and clicked her tongue. "James, James. What dismal hole have you hidden yourself away in this time? Tsk tsk."

She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Your assessment? Any foreknowledge of the area?"

"Well, my lady," the large man took a step forward. "When I ran in, ah, other circles, this place was controlled by the Hatters. We never could take it from them." He looked about. "But now, no sign of them. Graffiti. Markers. Nothing. Actually, I haven't noticed markers of any kind. Unclaimed territory I'd say."

She looked forward again; the tip of the thumb on her left hand began swirling against her index and middle fingers.

Thave knew what it meant when she did that. She was 'processing' - processing the data of the area, taking everything in. Every house, every stone, every crack, _everything_ on a level he could hardly fathom.

"Bleetmore always was an odd sort, though," he continued on, offering as much information as he could. "A dark place, where people would just vanish away occasionally."

"Vanish away?"

"Yes, my lady. Though strange enough, after the plague started and the Hatters lost their power in southern Dunwall, Bleetmore became less intense. More a lonely little road where the desperate went to be left alone."

"Ugh," Vivianna grimaced, rankling at the thought. "It does sound like the perfect little place for James to continue his chosen vocation. Dreary and thankless." She turned back to the rail car. "But I'm intrigued. Be a dear and hand me my doctor's bag."

He did as he was bid.

"I'll be back shortly," she said as she began rummaging around in the heavy black leather bag. "I wish for you to stay with the vehicle."

"I'm sorry? Now hold a moment, my lady," he said, alarm in his voice. "The Hatters may not control it anymore, but Bleetmore didn't get the nickname _Bleedmore_ for nothing. The rails don't run that way, so I think I should accompany you on foot at least."

"Bleedmore?" she repeated with a slight chuckle. "Oh my, how gauche." She smirked wryly. "No. There's no reason to suspect I will 'vanish away' as others have. I do believe that little problem has solved itself for us."

"Oh? How do you figure that? If you don't mind me asking."

"Set your gaze over my left shoulder, if you will, my dear Thave, and tell me what you see."

Her coachman looked past her, noting the large drinking establishment.

"_The Sodden Morleyman Pub_. What about it?"

"I said my _left_ shoulder, you prat," she grumbled as she continued sorting through the various items in her bag. She apparently sought something at the very bottom.

"Ah, right," Thave replied with a nod, and shifted his gaze. There were a few boarding homes – nothing of interest there – and on the corner was… "A mortician?"

The squat yellow and grey building was closed and the windows boarded up. There was a notice from the City Barrister; the property had been seized it seemed.

"Here it is!" Vivianna exclaimed triumphantly as she withdrew an item from her bag. It was a large blade with jagged teeth running its length, some nine inches long including the handle at the end: a bonesaw.

"Note if you will, my dear Thave, the mortician's empty place of business," she said as she faced the grim edifice. "_Last Rest Hall, E. V. Proprietor_."

"Yes?"

She smiled. "E. V. Edwin Vasari, a quiet and unassuming gentleman who gained, through the publications of some of those dreadful rags that deign to call themselves newspapers, the ludicrous title of _The Smiling Butcher_."

"The man that robbed those graves, cut up the bodies, and sold the parts to the Academy of Natural Philosophy?"

"The same. He was arrested for the illegal sales of cadavers. However, the proceedings fell apart due to the magistrate's lack of sufficient evidence tying Mr. Vasari to any grave robbing whatsoever. There were even some investigators who, during a rather enlightened bit of conjecture, proposed that Mr. Vasari was actually robbing the bodies from his own clientele - switching out the corpses before actual burial."

Thave looked at her.

"I'm assuming that wasn't the case."

"No. It was not. The Watch dug up nearly all of Mr. Vasari's burials, upsetting several people, including some rather prominent members of society. A good amount of reprimands were handed out then to our poor City Watchmen and apologies made, but Edwin Vasari's reputation was ruined nonetheless. His business failed, and his property was seized, forcing him to flee Gristol entirely."

"Where'd he get the corpses then?"

She cocked an eyebrow.

"According to our poor mortician with the besmirched name, he never actually stole a cadaver."

"Ratshit," Thave said with a sneer, then realized who he was speaking with. "I mean, that can't be true, my lady, can it? The Academy probably reported him."

"I'm afraid not. That august institution has quite the plethora of young men willing to commit all manner of atrocities in the name of science. They need bodies for their experiments." She leaned in close to him with a rather foreboding look upon her face. "The fresher the better."

The Estate Officer blinked in repulsion.

"Let us put forth our own suppositions, dear Thave," she said as she glanced back toward the confiscated property. "Let us suppose that our dear mortician in fact was telling the truth when he said he never stole a cadaver. Let us suppose he never robbed a grave. Yet, he still managed to obtain fresh corpses for his Academic customers."

She looked about the area where a few people were going about their daily affairs.

"Yet, he still managed to obtain fresh corpses," she repeated. "From someplace the Watch didn't come. From someplace the Hatters controlled and the average citizen avoided."

Thave glanced down Bleetmore Way.

"You mean-?"

"I think you have hit upon it then, my dear Thave," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Our good mortician was the Smiling Butcher after all. And Bleetmore was the butcher's pen. He stole the innocents from this very sidestreet, slaughtered them, and traded them away for coin."

She held the bonesaw over to him. The letters E. V. were engraved in it, the font matching that of the sign above the establishment's front door.

"Look. Papa purchased it for me at auction. When the dread Edwin Vasari had to sell his belongings to pay the barristers." She examined it clinically. "I'd stupidly assumed the rumors and conjecture were just false ramblings. The utterances of fools and the paranoid. But now..."

"So, what?" he asked. "You can glean something from the bonesaw? Find out where he is and bring him to justice, right?"

"I'm sorry?" She looked up into his face, reading the sincerity there and she chuckled again. "Oh by the Void, no. Sometimes you are too genuine for your own good."

She turned the item over in her hand.

"No, this item may have just increased in value. If only these jagged teeth could talk, the tales they would tell. There are several, hm, collectors shall we say, that deal with obscure items of the macabre. The Brimsleys are one such odd couple. That strange girl, Naria was her name I believe. Gerald Sutton from the Olkhein Docks; now there was a frightful man."

"You're just going to make a profit off of it? Instead of helping to bring the man in?"

Vivianna stopped examining the item and looked back at him, trying to keep a scowl from her face.

"There will only be a profit if I manage to sell the item, which I may not. Regardless, there is _no profit _in chasing after spirits long departed; I learned that after nearly a year of trying to do so. The man is gone, Thave, I know not where. Tyvia I had heard, but that is conjecture."

She handed him the bonesaw.

"Place that inside the cab and keep watch until I get back." She raised her hand as he began to balk. "I have my nickel-plated knuckleduster pistol and my special dagger. The former is in my bag, and the latter," she patted an area on her right boot, "is tucked away within easy reach. I am quite well armed, I assure you."

The coachman knew better than to argue with her further.

"As my lady wishes."

A forced grin worked its way to her face, then she nodded once at him, grabbed up her bag and began walking down Bleetmore Way.

* * *

Erin sat next to Etiennette on the courtesan's perch, a copy of this morning's _Gentlemen's Chronicle_ open in her hands. Both Ademar and young Otto listened as the Morlish girl slowly read aloud from the newspaper.

"_With the last of the contraband carted away, the Merry Boyz, as Culver Muryn's gang was called, are looking at serious charges to be laid against them by local magistrates, including grievous intent, smuggling, and perhaps even murder."_

"_Alongside these ruffians, the pirate band captained by none other than Markessa the Golden, sometimes called Markessa of the Twain-Hatchets, have also been in-"_ she pointed to a word.

Ademar glanced over her shoulder.

"Incarcerated," the young warrior said. "Like arrested."

"Ah thanks," she said with a shy grin as she tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. "Knew what it meant. Jus' dinna know how it be spelt is all."

She went back to the paper.

"…_have also been incarcerated. Lieutenant Rolline of the Wrenhaven River Patrol made the arrests two days ago in the early morning hours."_

"_The Watch Officer said he had received information-"_

A new voice interrupted the young girl.

"_The Watch Officer said he had received information of an imperative nature from one Emma Withers, a local woman who owned a stand near the Schauke Dockyards."_

The four comrades glanced in surprise as the newcomer quoted the passage from memory. The woman strode up to them, confidence in her step.

"And allow me a guess," she continued on, "the reward mentioned two paragraphs later for both the pirates and the Merry Boyz was given to that old woman, correct? As stated in the article of the Chronicle, it's rather ambiguous. I'm assuming she was James' newest client, yes?"

No one said anything for a moment, too stunned by Vivianna's sudden appearance.

"Uh," was the best Erin could mutter.

Lady Grey gave a quiet laugh, "James didn't forewarn you of my arrival, did he?" She scoffed. "How like him."

She looked around at the assemblage.

"Well then, how are we all?" She glanced to Otto first. "You've grown a good bit since I last laid eyes on you. It's been, what, three months?"

"Yes, mum," the boy uttered quietly. "I'm fine, thank ya, mum."

"Hm, good." She then looked at the two girls sitting next to each other and her demeanor seemed to change. "Etiennette, Erin," she said coolly. "You both seem fine." It was more of a statement than a query.

Finally, she turned her gaze to the tall ex-Overseer.

"And darling Ademar," she said, her eyes lighting up. "You appear quite well, as always. Can you possibly get any more delicious?" She ran her fingers across his arm and onto his chest.

"I am quite well, yes," he said finally and returned her smile. "And is it now Doctor Grey? Have the academics come to their senses?"

She laughed then, a lilting, happy sound before fixing her gaze upon the young warrior once again.

"You always did hope for the best in all situations." She squeezed his arm. "Even if they let me into their little male-dominated club, it would be a few years before I would receive a degree, let alone a license."

She released him and reached into the inner breast pocket of her frock coat.

"Here," she said as she handed him a calling card. "I am just a consultant for now."

He looked it over carefully.

"_Ms. Vivianna Grey,"_ he read aloud. _"Consultant for those suffering. From grievous injury to slight discomfort. All welcome. 124 Gehrmoor Boulevard."_

He blinked in surprise and looked at her.

"This isn't close to your home."

"Yes, you are correct," she said after a slight hesitation. "I didn't want it near papa since he has important dealings of his own. It wouldn't be best for… appearances."

He nodded. "I understand."

"It is in the same District though. And it is all mine, I assure you. The staff, the equipment, the entirety of the facilities." She smiled. "I've earned it myself. On my own merits. Nothing borrowed, or owed upon."

"And you can do this without harassment?"

She smiled again. "Nowhere does it say 'doctor' or mention anything concerning the medical fields. I offer consultations only. Advice. Nothing more, though my knowledge far surpasses that of most legitimate doctors. Still, there is nothing illegal about it." She harrumphed. "Not even that new City Barrister, Timsh, can find fault with me."

Ademar nodded in satisfaction, then turned the conversation to other matters.

"Your physical training? How fares it? Are you keeping up with your sword practice?"

"Yes. I don't think papa was particularly thrilled by the concept, but Captain Khirov is an excellent teacher." She bowed her head. "As masterful an instructor as you said. I have learned much."

"Good."

A mischievous look flashed across her face for a moment.

"You know, darling Ademar, I would love it if you and I could spar one day. What do you say?"

Ademar looked pleased.

"Yes, I would enjoy that very much I think. I would like to see your skills for myself."

"And I would love to experience your skills as well," she said, eyes twinkling. "Then, when we're done sparring, perhaps we could test out our sword skills as well."

Ademar blinked then shook his head.

"You never change, do you?" he said with a slight grin.

"I see no reason to," she admitted then looked down at the doorway marked by the symbol of a triangle set within a larger inverted triangle. "But, I suppose our good James is awaiting me within. May as well get this over with."

She glanced back up at the tall young man.

"Escort a lady in?"

"It would be my pleasure," he said, and offered his arm which she took. The two descended the short stairs and then entered the shop of the Undertakers.

After they were gone, there was a pause of silence, then…

"Erin? Erin, the paper?"

"Huh? Wot?" the young girl from Morley said with a blink.

"The paper," Etiennette said. "You seemed to have shredded it."

Erin looked down and saw that she had indeed twisted the newspaper beyond its breaking point.

"Er, sorry 'bout that." She offered the remnants to her friend who merely shook her head.

"Are you alright?"

The young girl crossed her arms as a scowl worked its way upon her face. She stared at the door the redhead had passed through with the tall ex-Overseer.

"Oi, ya see that saucy prim? Eyein' up me lad like 'e was a slab. Best be keepin' 'er grubbers to 'erself, I'ma thinkin'."

The courtesan tilted her head as she looked at her friend.

"Your lad? I didn't think you were with Ademar."

The short girl huffed.

"'e's not promised ta me an' all that, but still, I don' 'preciate someone pokin' they fingers in me puddin' afore I ken have a taste of it meself, is all I'm sayin'."

* * *

Despite her dislike to admit her own frailties, Vivianna was nervous. No, not nervous. Apprehensive would be a better word.

To assuage her uneasy thoughts, she made a quick study of the inside of the refurbished shop through which Ademar escorted her. The air was very dry and a bevy of smells attempted to assail her. Visual clues presented themselves to her. She mentally categorized each in turn.

She processed all the information together, making quick assumptions, casting some aside and furthering others. She finally came to a favored supposition.

"Oh, an old bookbinder's shop?" she put forth. "Dear Albert must have been ecstatic when James and he first moved in."

Ademar turned to her with an eyebrow raised.

"You've been here before?"

"No, my darling Ademar," she chuckled. "It was merely a guess."

They passed bolts of cloth laid across some tables. Cases of tinned food sat back by a far corner. Mechanical parts, some even for the new Sokolov technologies, were stacked in crates along a vacant wall. Other odds and ends occupied the room as well, each of which she noted in turn.

They approached to a long counter with two chairs before it where they would no doubt interview their perspective clients. A ledger sat closed with pen and a stoppered vial of ink nearby. The spine of the ledger was perfectly perpendicular with the edge of the desk. _Ah, dear Albert and his little habits._

Continuing on, Ademar finally escorted her to a closed door behind the counter. Beyond she could hear the murmurings of familiar voices, and her apprehension increased.

Finally she turned to Ademar, and in a low tone so as not to reveal herself to the occupants beyond the door, she said, "Thank you, darling. I shall take it from here."

He released her arm, bowed to her briefly, then turned on his heel and headed back out the entrance again.

After he closed the front door of the shop, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath to steady herself, and rapped once upon the door.

"Yes? Please come in," she heard Albert say.

She opened the door and entered. Within was a large office dominated by a teak desk set near the far wall. Besides the door through which she just passed two more exited the room, one on the left side, and one directly behind the desk. A freestanding coat tree stood to the right of the desk, a naval jacket hung over it, as well as an officer's blade in its sheath, and near the front of the room was a small trolley. Besides the comfortable chair behind the desk, two other equally well-made ones were positioned directly in front.

Within one of the two guest chairs sat the impressive figure of Albert Tuddleston, his attire as impeccable as ever. His eyes lit up with joy as he saw her.

"My Lady Grey!" he announced in excitement, standing and moving towards her, a wide smile on his lips. As he neared, he reached out and took her hand in both of his. "So wonderful to see you. So wonderful, indeed! It's been too long. Far, far too long."

"It has. Most assuredly." The grin he evoked from her was very genuine; she often considered him as a beloved uncle. How she missed his company. "You appear to be keeping yourself quite well. I daresay this life agrees with you."

His smile broadened.

"Oh, I would be lying if I said I didn't draw some small satisfaction from our efforts," he agreed. "Though, I must confess, the sometimes physical exertions interfere with my personal research. A scribe at home perusing dusty tomes by candlelight is my preferred lot in life."

"Yes," she returned and kept her focus on Albert, purposefully ignoring the room's other occupant for the moment. "Speaking of which, do you have a new word for me? To further our game? I believe we are still even as of last count."

The jolly man laughed.

"Oh, right to it, eh, right to it?" He nodded as he released her hand, and held up a finger. "I think I have one for you then. Yes, found it in an old text."

She chuckled. Albert was one of the few men, one of the few _people_ with whom she could speak as an equal. His intelligence and proclivity to devour data made him a worthy mental sparring partner. As such, the two had struck upon an idea a while back wherein they would test each others' knowledge of obscure words, to determine who was better read. Currently the game was tied at four all.

"Very well. Let's have it, then."

The heavyset man had a twinkle eye as spoke the word.

"Ablegate."

She hesitated.

"Hm, that is a word I haven't heard of," she paused dramatically for a moment, then continued on, "…at least for a good deal of time."

"Ah, you know it?" Tuddleston seemed disappointed.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, my dear Albert. Ablegate, at least in the sense I know it, is an older term for an emissary or ambassador from the Abbey of the Everyman. Usually sent to consult members of Parliament." She smirked. "I believe the practice is no longer in effect though. Too many of our aristocracy were worried of having their practices deemed impure."

"Indeed they were," Tuddleston said with a nod. "And your word for me?"

She smiled as her eyes narrowed. "Mine was also found in an old tome. One papa had acquired. The word is 'pais'. Do you know its meaning?"

"Pais, yes! Though only through the good fortune of having come across a set of Gristian lawbooks from a half-century ago. In some of the larger towns that have far too many crimes and not enough barristers or magistrates, the pais is the general collective from which the people of Gristol would draw members for a small jury."

"You are correct," she said, pleased that he knew the word. "It is always fun to banter with you. It takes away much from the dredges and commonality of daily life."

"Indeed," he agreed. "That aside, how are you? You look well. As lovely as ever." He turned to the third occupant in the room who had remained silent during this time. "She does look lovely, doesn't she, James?"

She followed his gaze to look upon the man who was leaned against the front of the desk with his arms crossed. Despite her attempt to remain impassionate, she drank in the sight of him.

He hadn't changed: an inch shy of six feet, with broad shoulders, and dark brown hair which he always kept neatly parted. He was close-shaven as well, always precise and tidy, not a blemish along that strong jawline or the slight dimple set in the middle of his chin - just one more of the marks of his life of daily discipline. His dark green eyes regarded her coolly and his handsome yet stern features were set in a neutral look making him as damnably hard to read as ever.

The corner of her mouth wanted to twist into a smile as she looked upon him, but she fought the urge and returned his stare, glancing about his form. Dark brown breeches, worn yet comfortable. Dark leather boots, polished and pliable, good for movement with reduced noise. His black shirt was-

Wait, black?

She took note of the slight bulge near the back of the tricep on his left arm. Allowing herself a slight grin, she placed her doctor's bag on top of the trolley.

"My darling Mr. Dartley, wherever have you dragged me to now?" she began as she rummaged through her bag. "This new abode, while quaint, doesn't seem up to your usual standards. Though I am sure sweet Albert had some fun delving through whatever newly bound manuscripts were found lying about. I noticed the contraband stored in the shop as well, no doubt taken from the Merry Boyz due to your little agreement with Rolline. I assume you'll sell that lot off to Faulhaber as usual. One has to pay their way somehow, I suppose."

The two men exchanged a quick glance with each other, but said nothing.

"I must admit a certain degree of surprise at receiving your missive," she continued on. "I thought- Well, honestly, I didn't know what to think as you gave no reason in your message." She paused long enough while going through her bag to glance back to him. "I am surprised you'd send for me to treat your wound. It doesn't sound like you."

"Who said I was wounded?" was his smooth reply.

She smirked.

"Other than the fact that you favor shirts of turquoise or white? And that your otherwise uniform physique has undergone a slight change of nonconformity?" She indicated the nearly imperceptible bulge on his arm. "Black is not your preferred color, but it does hide, very nicely, any signs of blood slipping through from a rather poorly dressed wound."

His eyes narrowed, but there was a slight hint of amusement in them. Even after all this time, she could surprise him with her observational skills.

"Albert, do you have an audiograph recorder? I failed to bring mine and I like to keep records of my visits."

"Ah, yes, yes," he said. "Back in the supply room, I believe."

"Would you be a dear and fetch it for me?"

"Without delay, my lady," he said and quickly exited through the rear door.

After he had gone, a sly look crossed her face as her eyes centered on James.

"Take off your shirt, if you will," she said as she slowly approached him.

"I'll just roll up my sleeve, thank you," he replied. "The cut isn't that high up."

She let out a slight sigh as she continued towards him.

"You never used to be so shy," she remarked and then winked as she closed the distance. "It wouldn't be the first time I would see you less than fully attired." He stood up straight and tensed as she finally reached him.

She laid her hands on his chest, pressing them against him and slowly moved them up his form. Reaching his shoulders, she leaned forward and gently encircled his neck with her arms. She noted the hint of his cologne – a mixture of lavender, amber, and sandalwood. Her eyes half-closed as she took in that familiar masculine scent; it was one of her favorites and brought a flood of memories from happier days.

"The timing of your summons was fortuitous," she murmured, fixing her gaze upon him again.

"Oh?"

She brushed her parted lips against the left side of his neck. "Yes."

"How so?"

"Because Herschel Carmine's favorite son, Richard, is going to be throwing one of his balls again. Nothing overly fancy, mind you, just '_a hundred or so of his closest friends_'." She pulled back and scoffed. "The only reason that foul congregation of vapors has any friends is because his father is so prominent in House Carmine."

"Second in power only behind Addison Carmine, Herschel's brother, correct?" he inquired.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Look who's been keeping up on the political circuit. I'm quite proud of you, James." She leaned in again, her lips brushing along the right side of his neck this time.

"I don't see what that has to do with the timing of my note, though."

"Mm?" She pulled back again. "Oh because I've been invited to this gathering. You know how papa loves to 'have me out there'."

"Yes, I remember," he replied tersely.

"And since House Carmine sponsors papa's businesses and overseas ventures, I mean they _are_ our patron House after all, papa wishes me to attend." She sighed lightly and looked away. "I suppose Richard has shown _some_ interest in me. He's been attempting to court me, unsuccessfully of course."

"Of course."

"Ugh, what a dreary thought." She shivered a moment, then she focused on him again. "However, if I were to attend with say, a decorated Naval officer, well that would throw his plans into turmoil."

"Whose plans? Your father's or Richard's?"

"Both?" she grinned. "Either? It doesn't matter. It would silence a few waggling tongues, and more importantly, it would be fun. Especially if you attended." She tilted forward again, her teeth delicately gliding across the dimple in his chin. She moved to bite him when he spoke again.

"Maybe you can invite Eric again instead," he said dryly.

She paused and her eyes narrowed. She pulled back, her upper lip twitching as it curled in a snarl.

"That. Happened. Once." Anger flashed across her face. "It was nothing like what you suggest, and you know it. You and Albert were investigating that chandler's problems at the time. What was his name? Bernstiel, I believe? Besides, Eric and I have been friends forever. We all have, dear James, as you seem to have so readily forgotten."

Tuddleston returned, the audiograph player in hand. Upon seeing them together, however, he paused in the doorway.

"Oh my," he hesitated, though there was a trace of a smile within his voice. "Am I interrupting anything? I will gladly retire to another room if I am doing so."

"Don't bother," Vivianna said with a grimace as she released James and stepped away. "As is oft the situation, nothing worthy of note happens when this fatuous person is involved." She indicated James with a dismissive nod, then proceeded to take the audiograph player from Albert and set it on the trolley.

She went back to her bag and withdrew a handful of blank audiographs. Placing one of the cards into the machine's slot, she flicked the _Record_ button.

"Vivianna Grey, consultation. The second day of the Month of Rain. 1837." She paused long enough to withdraw a pocketwatch from her waistcoat pocket. "Time is 10:51 in the morning."

"This isn't why I called you," James interrupted her.

"The subject appears to be a great blithering lummox," she continued on, purposely ignoring his words. "Cause of concern stems from a wound that appears at first supposition to have been received in the Tricep brachii region of his left arm, though as the subject is too much of a dullard to have followed simple instructions to either remove his shirt or roll up his sleeve, my examination is hampered. Most likely it was received while assisting another some two days ago at the Schauke Dockyards."

She turned to Tuddleston.

"Any deep wound should be consulted immediately. Infection could set in, making a simple situation most dire. I would think of all people to have a brain inside their head, it would be you, Albert. You have influence enough over him to get him to act."

"I, well, I-" Tuddleson blustered as he sought an appropriate answer.

"Don't turn your wrath to Mr. Tuddleston because you're angry with me," James said, moving to the trolley and flicking the audiograph player off. "I told you, I didn't call you here for me. The cut is fine at the moment. Sore, but on the mend."

"Then why in the Void did you send for me at all?" she growled in annoyance. "You obviously want nothing more to do with me on a personal level, and if you don't wish a consultation then I don't see why-"

"I do want a consultation, just not for me." Seeing her queried look, he moved to the door on the side of the office, knocked once and opened it quickly. "Rollo, bring her this way."

The short, dark-haired criminal came through the doorway, guiding a young girl with delicate, pretty features and long black hair. The girl appeared worried and held tightly onto Rollo's arm.

"It's alright, lass, s'alright," he spoke quietly, trying to reassure her. "The lady's just gonna give ya a quick exam is all. A once over as it were."

"What in the Void is this nonsense?" Vivianna asked.

"Jus' a friend of mine," Rollo said sternly. "We found her on our latest caper, not that it's any of ya business. She hadn't eaten right and we fixed her up as best we could." He paused, then caught the taller woman's gaze with his own. "And you be nice to her, too," he threatened. "She's gone through enough as it is."

The lady blinked, unable to comprehend. She looked again at James.

"Rollo is correct," James explained. "When we removed the Merry Boys two days ago from the Schauke Dockyards, he came across her chained to a wall. We've fed her and she's had a chance to rest. I'd thought about taking her to Ma Nettles' place, but first I wanted to make sure she wasn't infectious." He paused a moment. "With the plague or anything else."

"Two days?" The lady was incredulous. "It's quite obvious she doesn't have the Rat Plague. In fact," she glanced over at the girl, "she doesn't seem to be presenting with any maladies at all. Maybe a bit underfed as you said, but I still don't see why you needed me to trek all the way-"

Vivianna paused, then tilted her head as she turned back to the navy man.

"Oh, Mr. Dartley, quite well-played," a dark grin twisted her lips. "Very responsible. Very heroic. Aren't you the clever little cock-robin? Very well, I shall engage in your play and fulfill the role you have set for me." She leaned forward with a sinister look. "Quite succinctly, I assure you."

"What?" Tuddleston asked, not quite following some underlying meaning. "What role? What is she talking about?"

"Be quiet please, Mr. Tuddleston," the leader of the Undertakers said, as he crossed his arms again. "Let her work."

"The role is that of villain, dear Albert," the woman replied. "A role I seem to have been cast into with neither intent nor consent."

She turned to the girl.

"Can you write?"

"Mum? I mean, my lady?" the girl was surprised at having been addressed. "Yes, my lady, I know my characters. My mother taught them to me."

Vivianna nodded once, reached into her bag and withdrew a writing slate and small piece of chalk.

"Write your name for me there. Neatly as you can."

The girl nodded, took the offered items and wrote something. After a moment she handed them back. Vivianna looked at the two words on the slate.

"Adrienne Deschamps," she read aloud, then looked at the girl. Her gaze drifted to the girl's hair. "Makes sense," she muttered, then placed the slate and chalk back in her bag. "Take off your frock."

The girl blinked in surprise. "Pardon me, what?"

"I assume you have no problem hearing. I said remove your frock. You do have some undergarments on at least, correct?"

"I, uh, yes, my lady," she said quietly.

"Here now, wot's this?" Rollo interjected with a curl of his lip. "Whattaya tryin' ta do ta the poor lass?" He turned to James for support.

"Is this necessary?" the navy man asked.

"It is for what you want," Vivianna replied coldly, catching his gaze. "You do want me to be thorough, don't you? Isn't that your intent?"

"Let her proceed," he finally relented.

Rollo sneered then, but turned to the girl. "Sorry lass, sorry. Best ta do it fer now." He looked back at James. "But I'll be havin' words with ya later, bucko. That ya can count on."

The girl nodded and slowly undid the threads on the side of the worn frock. Her cheeks took on an embarrassed pink hue as she slid the drab dress off and stood only in a white shift.

Nonplussed, Vivianna ejected the audiograph from the player.

"Do you need an audiograph copy?" she asked James.

"That won't be necessary."

"Very well, then. I won't waste my time." She removed her gloves, placed them on the trolley and indicated an open space near the main entrance. "Come here, girl," she said, her tone indignant.

Adrienne went without question.

Vivianna walked slowly around her, eyes narrowed. The tip of the thumb on her left hand began swirling against her index and middle fingers as she concentrated, processing everything the girl's appearance offered her. As she went behind the girl, she leaned closer, sniffing her hair.

"Hint of rose petals and orchid, distilled. Laced with oil."

She circled around front and paused. She got very close to the girl, examining the edges of her eyes, then moved back a bit and brushed her fingertips against the girl's cheek. She rubbed her fingers together and sniffed again.

"Luster is of good quality as is the cream. Hint of cranberries. Hm, expensive."

"Wot's she-?" Rollo started but James held his finger up to silence him.

Vivianna began circling again, like a shark studying her prey. Her eyes were constantly dancing over the girl's form as the fingers on her left hand continued to swirl. After making another full pass around the girl, she abruptly stopped behind her and then moved close again. She reached down and grabbed a firm hold of the girl's rear.

Adrienne yelped for a moment, but silenced herself quickly.

"Here now!" Rollo began and started forward only to be grasped by the sea man.

"Not the first time, mm?" Vivianna mewled into the girl's ear. "You've been inspected before, isn't that right?"

She released her hold, then grasped the girl about the shoulders, and felt down her arms. She turned the girl to face her and moved her hands about her subject's waist, hips, and upper thighs. Stepping away, Vivianna crossed her arms then scoffed.

"Let's have it then. Your curtsy. I want to see it."

The girl nodded awkwardly, then curtsied in a mechanical motion.

"Sufficient, but it's not been in much use of late due to your new occupation, has it?"

The younger girl blinked in surprise as the woman went back to the trolley, retrieved a rag from her bag and wiped her hands.

"H-how?"

"The subject, Adrienne Deschamps, appears to be a young woman of twenty or twenty-one. She is in good health considering recent events. I put forth the supposition that she comes from a larger family, and that her family maintains a small herd of cattle, or perhaps sheep, though I would wager on the former. Her mother has some education, a teacher perhaps."

"The subject has, in the last year or two, found work within the city as a maid to a well-off family, but due to unforeseen problems, has had to leave that service and has recently found work as a courtesan in a brothel. On the north side of the Wrenhaven I'd say."

She finally paused and looked at the girl.

"Is my supposition wrong in any regard?"

The girl stood there shaking her head in the negative. "But, it's magic then? She's a witch?"

"Hah!" Rollo interjected. "Ya can say that again."

"No," James said as he stepped forward. "No magic involved, just the sharpest brain I've ever seen." He looked at Vivianna. "She is clean then?"

The lady cocked an eyebrow. "I'd have to examine her more thoroughly to see if she was free of any infection, but of the kind you're worried about? Yes, she is fine."

He looked at the young girl then back to Vivianna.

"Could you elaborate more?"

The woman sighed then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"The girl's name, Deschamps. It is an older common surname from middle Gristol. It means 'from the fields'. Basically a farmer. The girl, despite her smaller frame, has good muscle growth in her thighs, and upper arms. She is used to a hard day's work in the fields."

She smiled.

"Then of course, her first name. Adrienne. From her mother no doubt. It matches perfectly with that raven black patch of hair on her head. Her mother was well read I would say." She grabbed up the slate and turned it so the others could see it. "Look at this fine style. Not just any farmer's wife taught this girl to write."

"It's true," Adrienne stated meekly. "She was a teacher."

"The girl is healthy, but I doubt the eldest. She'd have more backbone. She's used to being helpful and obedient. And she is quite pretty. I daresay her mother taught her to curtsy properly and convinced her to work as a maid, or a young governess in the big city."

"To Lord Candrege," the girl added with a nod.

"And there we have it," Vivianna smiled in triumph. "Lord Candrege passed away without heir nearly ten months ago. His estate was put up for auction. I should know, papa and I attended." She turned to the younger girl. "Your contract was sold off then I would say. To any who would take it."

With this, the girl nodded and grabbed herself about the waist as a look of shame overtook her features.

"I suspect one of the madams picked it up for only a handful of coins. The oil in the hair is a common scent they use. I prefer Jasmine picked at midnight myself; I find the scent to be very calming. It also explains why you didn't seem surprised as I tested your form. One of the madams had 'inspected' you before."

"As for knowing she has taken up with one of the northern brothels, the rouge and mascara she has are of superior quality, not as prone to smearing or wearing off. The rouge smelled of cranberries, to enhance the color no doubt. Only a handful of establishments can afford that for their girls. I would put forth Lady Echkart, or Lucretia Dent." She looked back to the girl again. "Use a better quality soap to remove it properly."

"I will, my lady." Adrienne nodded. "And it was Madame Dent I worked for. Until she traded me to Mr. Murlyn for use of his smuggling connections. That was the deal she made. A new girl every month or two."

Albert looked surprised at this new information.

"Every month or two? But, I say, we found no others. What became of them?"

Lady Grey looked at him.

"What do you think became of young girls in the hands of brutes such as those?"

"It, this cannot be." He turned to James. "In our city?"

"It's good we found her when we did, it seems," the navy man said, then looked over at Vivianna. "Thank you."

She nodded once. "If that is all, then I will take my leave. You owe me nothing for the consultation. Consider it… a _favor_."

He chuckled as she began packing her bag.

Rollo picked up the girl's frock and said, "C'mon then, lass. It's over. Ya can go back ta the other room now. Then we'll see about getting' ya someplace even better ta stay."

Adrienne smiled at him and followed the short man from the room.

After she was finished with her bag, Lady Grey looked back at James.

"So now your collection is complete. First your little blonde, then that redheaded Morley girl, now this raven-haired child. I can see it now. James Dartley's Home for Wayward Girls." She smirked. "With a special wing for 'those of dubious character', so that little Rollo would have a place as well."

"I have a question, if I may," Tuddleston said. "There was no infection, was there? You were testing to see her character, if she were a plant, a spy?"

James grimaced. "One can never be too careful. There are enemies everywhere."

"And that is why I left," Vivianna said, her tone scornful. "This delusion of yours that we are somehow at war with the entirety of the underworld of the city. We are not."

She stepped forward, pointing a finger at him.

"You weren't the only one to have lost Connie that day. We all lost her. Albert, myself. Outsider's Eyes, even Eric was a friend of hers. And William, poor William, her betrothed. He misses her as badly as anyone. I've visited him recently, can you say the same?"

The naval man said nothing.

"I thought not. He misses you as well. You remind him of her, and he would gladly see you. Converse with you. Share memories. But no, you hide away in some dismal scab of the city. Plotting your little plots, and planning to overthrow corruption. Hoping to find this elusive thread that will lead you to your needed revenge."

She paused a moment to calm herself then slowly shook her head.

"We all lost something that day. Someone." She glanced at him for a moment, regret in her eyes, before turning and heading towards the front exit. "Some of us lost more though."

James and Albert watched in silence as she stopped in the doorway.

"Despite that, all you need do is ask and I come running to you. I guess I always shall." She sighed. "Be safe. Until you have need of me again."

Then she walked through the door and was gone.


	7. Chapter 6: Finally, a Clue

**A/N:**** So after a hiatus of about three months I'm finally back. Yay!**

**My latest chap is, unfortunately, one of those dreaded exposition-heavy chaps. My apologies in advance for that.**

**Also, I have an important announcement posted at the end of this chap regarding this fic - I ask that you look it over when you have a chance.**

**That said, I wish to thank _PikovajaDama_, _CertainUncertainty_, _countess z_, _High Mage Lady Hawkmoon_, _Sierrapeyton_, _Anime Borat_, _Tacitus Shadowrunner, _and_ DeadSoul248_ for the encouragement, PMs, and chats that keep me going.**

**Here's my latest bit:**

* * *

**Favors**

Chapter 6

**Finally, a Clue**

* * *

_**The Second Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837**_

_**The Tailors' District, southeastern corner**_

_**Afternoon**_

…

…

"We'll be there soon, right quick," Etiennette announced as she led the others through the side-alleys and backstreets of the District.

Adrienne just nodded as she followed along, glancing at all the tall buildings and the stifling, tight corridors. Most of the windows were closed, and only occasionally could she see movement inside: a flicker of light, a flutter of a drape, or a guarded stare from a dark figure hidden inside.

"Best fing be ta nae go pokin' inna others' bidness," Erin said as she tried to keep pace with the taller girls. "Folks jus' be doin' they fings and such. Leave'em be, they be leavin' you be, get it?"

"Y-yes," Adrienne said as she was ushered along.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Rollo, the short man who had saved her from the Merry Boyz, bringing up the rear of the little parade. The criminal was glancing about in front and behind the group, one hand on a pistol, the other on the pommel of one of the numerous throwing knives he carried. He happened to spot her looking at him and grinned quickly.

"S'alright, lass, no fuss," he said. "As the ladies here say, it's a short trip if you're mindin' yourself. I'm jus' taggin' along ta see that ya make it alright."

She returned his smile and was about to say something when Erin interrupted.

"That place there?" Erin pointed to a dark building with several boarded up windows and weeds growing along some cracks around its borders. "Mesh plant house. Stay away. The addicted be dangerous."

They passed a large open drain with its iron grate pulled away and bent to the side. A stream of oily water was flowing out of it and into a large steel-lined gutter that wound out of sight to the southwest.

"That water, ya nae be drinkin' less ya wanna be sick and end up Weepin'," the Morley girl warned. As if to punctuate her point, the body of a dead rat floated by just then.

Adrienne grimaced.

"But if ya needta duck out quick that drain be leadin' ya ta Covington Lane by _Tiller's Alehouse_." The redheaded girl smirked. "Jus' be careful nae ta swallow any o' the water, like I says."

Adrienne nodded again, trying to take in all the new information at once.

"Don't worry," Etiennette interjected with a smile. "We're almost there."

"Need ta show 'er our stream first, we do," Erin said, and grabbed onto Adrienne's arm, leading her to the right side of the path. "Jus' down 'ere."

"It's not _our_ stream, Erin."

"Sure 'tis," the Morley girl replied. "Marked it plain, I did."

The blonde courtesan gave a resigned sigh as the short redhead took their guest down to a wrought iron fence along a ten foot drop-off. Beyond it and down about twelve feet was a large cobblestone area. A few feet further and the cobblestones gave way to natural stone and dirt. Past that was a spot where a wide, seemingly natural, stream cut its way across Orriden Road. The stream appeared from around a bend to the northeast, and trailed off behind some low shrubs to the southwest.

Erin pointed to a small wooden sign with poorly-written, faded letters on it.

Adrienne squinted at it. "_EB &amp; EM Stream, Dunwall?"_

"EB, Erin Brannigan," Erin indicated herself with a jab of her thumb, then pointed to her taller blonde companion. "EM, Etiennette Mersel."

She next pointed past the shrubbery to the west.

"A small pool's over there, it is," she announced with a smile. "Cool, clean water. Fun fer dippin' when it be gettin' too warm."

She then indicated two tall posts pressed into the ground in the opposite direction to the east. Each of the posts had pegs of various lengths sprouting from them at odd intervals. The pair seemed to have several hack marks in them.

"That be where Addie practices when 'e visits 'ere," she said with a quick grin. "Ye can be watchin' 'im from the south-side window onna second floor of Ma's place."

"Yer gettin' sticky-eyed, again," Rollo groused scornfully. "We ain't sightseein'."

Erin balled up her fists and was about to retort when Etinnette spoke aloud.

"We're here!"

The courtesan indicated a large, well-maintained two-story wooden dwelling that appeared to have once been a small stables now converted into a boarding house, with the second floor having been extended and widened, apparently to accommodate a larger living space. The entrance was on the western side, facing Winchcoch Lane, with a large painted sign that read: _Ma Nettle's Hostel_. The north side butted up close to a small store named _Strobe Clothery_.

The south end of the building extended all the way to the edge of the ten foot drop-off that was Orriden Road below, the _EB &amp; EM Stream_ gurgling cheerfully alongside. Along the southern wall were two large windows, one for each floor. Set between them was a small, odd pulley system, with a large bucket attached that apparently could be used to catch the water from the stream below.

As they neared, Erin's paused and breathed in the air, a wide smile upon her face.

"Cor, Ma be makin' her mutton soup!" she said gleefully then inhaled again. "And there be fresh biscuits, too!" She made off at a trot to the boarding house. "C'mon!"

Rollo just shook his head.

"May not be use fer much else, but when it comes to sniffing out food, that girl is part wolfhound."

The trio tried to keep up with the errant Morley girl as she disappeared into the large edifice. She was already out of sight by the time they reached the entryway leading to a small foyer. To the left was a large open section set up as a dining area with a long table and several benches around it. To the rear of the foyer, on the east end, was a stairway leading up to the second floor. Just to the right of the stairs was a door leading out the back, behind the building. To the right of the entry, along the south wall, was a door opening into a kitchen from which emanated a delicious aroma and the sounds of a woman berating someone.

"Whatcha think ya doin' girlie?" a gruff feminine voice demanded. "Get out of my kitchen!"

Etiennette sighed once more as she made a beeline for the kitchen door, the others following suit. The kitchen appeared to be the perfect example of organized chaos: a large stove was crammed along the southern wall, worn cabinets fitted on the eastern wall housed cooking supplies set up in no appreciative order, barrels of flour and one of yeast were stacked lopsided in the back corner, bottles of oil and vinegar were hidden just behind a partially closed cabinet door, and pots, pans and cooking utensils were precariously arranged on some unsteady shelving just to the left of the entry.

In the middle of the room, next to a free-standing butcher's block was an older woman, about five-and-a-half feet tall and solidly built. Her hair, tied back in a practical bun, had equal parts brown and grey, and her features had a stern, no nonsense look to them. She was currently threatening Erin with a large wooden spoon.

"Jus' seein' whatcha got cookin' is all, Ma," the smaller girl said, trying to bypass the older woman to get to a large steaming pot set upon the stove. "We be bringin' someone new fer the Boss."

She indicated Adrienne standing with the others in the doorway. The older woman glanced over for a moment and Erin used the distraction to snatch up two fresh biscuits from a metal tray set upon the butcher's block.

"Ow ow! Crap!" Erin shifted the hot pastries from one hand to the other, blowing on the offending fingers that were getting burned. She made a dash towards the front entrance, her ill-gotten goods in hand. "Move move!"

The others quickly got out of the way as the older woman snarled and grabbed another hot biscuit off the tray.

"Erin, you brat!" she yelled as she hurled the heated item at the fleeing girl.

The Morley girl turned just in time to see the incoming biscuit, shifted and caught it out of the air.

"Thanks, Ma!" she cried back with a giggle before she turned and dashed away, through the entryway and up the steps to the second floor, her heavy shoes clumping all the way.

"Damn girl, be the cause of all my grey I swears," the woman muttered in exasperation, then her attention focused on her other guests. "Now then, who are you?" she asked the newcomer.

"Uh," the dark-haired girl started then awkwardly curtsied. "Adrienne Deschamps. I was sent by Mr. Dartley. He said you may have room for me? Thank you for taking the time to see me."

The older woman paused and then a low smile crept upon her face.

"Well now, a right proper one we have here," she began and placed the spoon on the stove. She wiped her hands quickly upon her apron and looked at Etiennette. "She's as polite as you, Sweet Netty, which is a good thing; don't think I handle 'nother such as the brat." She glanced at the ceiling above to punctuate her meaning.

Etiennette giggled quietly as the woman refocused her attention on Adrienne.

"Right then, I'll give it to ya straight," she said, the stern look returning. "Name's Ma Nettles and this is my place. Not James' nor Tuddleston's nor Erin's despite the way that brat behaves. Mine. The first week's rent here is free, per the accord with James. After that, it's five coin a week, four if ya help out around the place. Dishes, launderin', whatnot."

She nodded to the stove.

"Food's ten coin a week, in advance mind you. Fer that ya get two meals a day. Breakfast and supper. If you help Mr. Jasper in the garden out back then I'll knock off two coin a week. You bring anything else in ta help, say tins of whale meat and the like, and I'll knock off even more."

The girl blinked.

"So, it's ten for the food right away, then?" She placed her hands near her belt where a beltpouch would normally be. "I don't have any-"

"Naw," the woman said with a quick shake of her head. "James took care of the first week of that as well. But ya may wanta look fer somethin' ta get a few coins ta ya name."

"O-okay," the girl said with a pensive nod. "I don't really know anyone around here. If I may ask, what would you suggest?"

The woman harrumphed.

"Anything that'll bring in the coin; I won't judge. All of my fifty-one years have been spent in this city and I seen it all. Stealin', foragin'," she glanced Adrienne over. "You're a pretty lass; there's other ways if ya please."

"Harlotry?" A disparaging look crossed the girl's face. She glanced at the others with her, her eyes pleading.

Etiennette stepped up and looked the girl square in the face.

"Don't worry if you decide to stay a courtesan. There's no madame to worry about and no one but yourself that gets the coin. You can't bring the gents here but there are places about that you can usually rent for only a coin or two a day. The rest is all yours."

"B-but, I was hoping to not have to. Especially after the Merry Boyz."

"Here now," Rollo began with a scowl in Ma's direction before looking back at the girl. "Ya don't needta do anythin' ya don't want. There're different jobs open."

"My apologies, lass," Ma said. "I wasn't tryin' ta make ya uncomfortable, or force anything upon ya. Lemme speak ta Mr. Strobe next door. I think he has positions available, if you want."

The girl nodded quickly, her eye downcast.

"Hey, hey," the woman said quietly as she moved forward. She reached out and gently took the girl's chin with her hand, lifting her face up. "I may be a brusque, ornery hag, but I'm not an unfair one. We'll work something out, I promise." A quick smile followed and then she winked. "If I can put up with Erin, I can put up with anything."

* * *

_**The Twenty-fourth Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837**_

_**The Tailors' District, southeastern corner**_

_**Twenty-Two days later**_

_**Early morning**_

…

_Mother,_

_I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to write you. So much has happened these last three weeks, but all for the better. The evil circumstances I had found myself in are long over and my new situation is going quite well. _

_The brave men who came to my aid have seen fit to arrange decent accommodations for me. I rarely see them though, as their daily affairs keep them quite busy. I've yet to thank them properly, especially the sweet gentleman, Mr. Rollo Septner, who has shown me such kindness and patience._

_The proprietress, Ma Nettle, once frightened me, I admit. However, as gruff as she appears, she is a very warm lady who cares for each of us as if we were her own. I help out around the hostel, and the skills you taught me have become very useful. I assist with mending and the washing, and keeping the place clean. I've also managed to get a position at the clothier next to us, and have begun saving up some coin. When I have enough I will send you some to help with the farm._

_I've befriended Mr. Jasper, a funny man in his mid-forties who tends the garden here at the hostel and helps with repairs. He acts very much as a domestic butler and likes to dress as proper as he can, but invariably gets his nice clothes all dirty. He makes light of it though and is a joy to be around. He even has a pet rat that he trained; a white one with pink eyes that goes by the name of Shivers._

_Finally, my dearest friends, Erin and Etiennette who have become like sisters and are always there to share their time with me. I will tell you more of them when I write next time, but just know your daughter is safe and well cared for._

_All my love,_

_Adrienne_

…

A sudden disturbance caused Adrienne to look up from her writing.

"Oi, ye be comin' or nae?" Erin asked from the doorway. "Ma's porridge be fresh, and there're even jams and biscuits!" The tiny redhead nodded enthusiastically as a wide grin split her face.

"I'll be right there," she replied. "I just need to set my letter aside so the ink dries properly."

"Yer loss," her friend grumbled then she winked. "If the jam be gone when ye get there, I dinna wanna be gettin' scolded."

"Erin Brannigan!" Adrienne called out as she pushed away from the small desk in her room. "Don't you dare!"

The Morley girl chuckled then bolted down the hall as the older girl chased after her, giggling. Their laughter echoed through the upper floor and foyer as they ran to the top of the stairs and then bounded down them.

"Here now!" Ma yelled from the kitchen. "None of that!"

The girls ignored her calls and ran into the dining area, almost colliding with Mr. Jasper and Etiennette.

"Oh, please do be careful," the thin man said in his heavy voice that belied his appearance. "That's not the proper way for young ladies to behave."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Adrienne said as she caught her breath. "Erin was threatening to eat all of the jam again."

Complete innocence shown on the short redhead's face.

"Wot? Me?"

"Yes you, ya brat," Ma groused as she brought in a large wooden tray holding their breakfast. She quickly doled out the bowls and clay mugs holding fresh milk. "Eat up quickly, before Erin steals it all."

The girls took what they wanted then Mr. Jasper filled his own bowl with hot porridge and retired to the kitchen to eat with Ma.

The three girls ate quietly for a moment then Erin, as she retrieved her third bowlful, blurted out a question.

"So, ye got yeself a sweetie or nae?" she asked Adrienne.

The other two looked surprised and Etiennette leaned forward.

"It's not polite to ask about others' affairs."

"Jus' a question is all," Erin retorted as she finished her food. "Nae gonna do any 'arm knowin', now is it?"

"That's not the point."

Adrienne recovered and then laughed quietly.

"It's fine," she said to Etiennette then turned to Erin. "No, I haven't a sweetie. Not here. Nor when I worked at Lord Candrege's estate." She paused to consider a moment. "Not even back home."

"Be a shame. Ye pretty nuff."

"Oh, thank you," she said with an embarrassed downward glance, not used to such compliments. After a moment she looked back up. "And, uh, you? Have a sweetie yourself?"

"Nae at the moment," the short girl admitted with a sigh. "Sometimes 'spectin' the lads ta be more noticin', y'know? But they be 'ard inna 'ead." She leaned back, propped her feet on the table, then she winked. "S'okay, I ken wait. Ain't got nowhere ta go."

"Erin, get your feet off the table," Etiennette whispered. "Before Ma sees you."

The Morley girl grumbled but did as she was bade.

"Anyone in particular you're _waiting_ for?" Adrienne asked with mock innocence, then glanced at Etiennette with a slight smirk.

"Maybe," Erin replied with a sly grin. "Come 'round 'e will, you'll see."

"Ugh, not this again," Etiennette said as she rolled her eyes. "I don't think Ademar even suspects you like him, though everyone else seems to know. You should just say something rather than go on about it so."

"Yeah," the Morley girl said, looking thoughtful. After a moment she sighed dreamily. "Everything else be right perfect 'bout 'im, but 'e dinna seem very bright sometimes."

Adrienne leaned forward, a mirthful look upon her face.

"He is handsome though, isn't he?"

"I know," Erin agreed with a wide grin. "Ken ye imagine what it'd be like fer'im ta hold ye close?" She closed her eyes then hugged herself. "He be so strong, arms wrapped 'round, keepin' ye nice and safe. Nae a care fer anythin' else. He bathes regular too and always smells fresh."

Etiennette cocked an eyebrow.

"You go around _smelling_ him?"

Erin's eyes popped open.

"Wot?" She blinked. "I, er, wot'd I say?"

Adrienne chuckled innocently at her friend's discomfort. After a moment she turned to the blonde girl.

"And what about you? You have anyone, if I may ask?"

Etiennette grew quiet.

"Aye, she be havin' 'er own lad," Erin admitted, a knowing look upon her face. "Dinna think I be figurin' it out, but I did."

The other two girls looked at her.

"Oh?"

"But nae be sayin' anythin' since the gormless boffin come back."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Vivianna, I mean."

"Oh."

They were quiet for a bit, then Etiennette broke the silence.

"No, you're right. Very, uh, perceptive, I think is the word." She chuckled quietly to herself. "I try to not think about it, but he does fascinate me sometimes."

"Hah!" the short girl laughed as she kicked her legs out. "Called it, I did. Know a thing or two, I do."

"Yes, well, let's keep that our little secret, shall we?"

"Secret? Why ya nae be tellin'im?"

"He's busy a lot actually." Her voice grew meeker. "And there's other reasons."

"Like wot?"

"He's very refined you see, and I'm-" She looked embarrassed as she glanced down at herself. "Well, I'm just this."

"Cor, ya better'n most, I say," Erin replied with a firm nod. "Wishin' I was half as beautiful as you, I do. The boss'd be lucky ta have ya, even if'n 'e's pinin' fer that numpty prim."

"I'm sorry, the boss? You mean James?"

"Yep."

"Oh no no. Not James." Etiennette chuckled again. "I mean he's handsome and all, but it's Albert I like. He's so proper and I find that fascinating."

A stunned look crossed the face of the young Morlish girl.

"Um, wot?"

"Albert? Mr. Tuddleston?"

"Mr. Fancy Tuddles? O'er the boss? Pullin' me leg are ye?"

"No, Erin, I was being serious. What's wrong with that?"

The stunned look was replaced by confusion.

"Wrong? Wot'll ya do with'im?"

"Do? I don't understand."

"I mean 'e's all-" the short girl made exaggerated circular gestures with her arms. "I mean how ya gonna, y'know do stuff?"

"Do stuff?" The courtesan's eyes narrowed. "I don't think that's important."

"If 'e's on top of ya then _**pbbbt!**_" Erin made a smashing motion with her hands. "He'd squish ya like a grape."

"Erin!"

Adrienne cupped a hand over her mouth so as not to let out a squeak of laughter.

"Or if 'e's onna bottom, well then ya'd tumble right off."

"Erin, that's enough!" The young courtesan glared at her smaller companion. "That's extremely rude!"

"Wait, I dinna mean to be soundin' like that."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, her arms crossed in frustration. "I shouldn't have said anything. Just sit still."

Silence hung in the air. After a moment Etiennette grabbed up her clay mug and scowled at Erin. Finally, it was Adrienne who spoke.

"I know you're upset, but truly I feel very happy to be here."

She nodded with a smile.

"Despite all that happened, my luck has turned. I'm not in so dire a place anymore. I just knew the Azure Bloom was a sign of better things."

Etiennette glanced over at her.

"Azure Bloom?"

"Yes," the dark-haired girl said. "I was," she hesitated. "Well, when I was delivered to the Merry Boyz, I saw a picture, quite faded, on the inside of a crate. That's how Madame Dent sent me to the Merry Boyz. Shipped on a barge. Inside a crate."

Erin gasped in surprise as the dark-haired girl continued.

"There were enough holes for air and such, and it must have been an older crate, because they reused an old lid. Had the stamp of a business on it. _Azure Bloom_."

She smiled wistfully.

"Such a pretty picture, even though it had faded with time. A single blue rose upon a background of silver and there was-"

_**-criish-**_

The sound of the clay mug shattering upon the floor startled her. She looked over and saw Etiennette, eyes wide and shock upon her face. Even as she watched, the color seemed to drain from the courtesan.

"What?" She became worried and glanced to Erin who seemed equally surprised. "What'd I say?"

"Ma!" the girl from Morley called out. "Mr. Jasper!"

"Erin, what did I say?" she asked, concern upon her face.

"Probably the most important thing any o' us coulda said." The redhead leaned forward with a serious look. "Ye be needin' ta talk ta the boss, quick as ye ken."

* * *

In was an hour before dusk when Otto finally arrived at the Undertakers' hideout, an anxious Ademar in tow. They joined the rest of the group that had been gathered.

"Found'im," the boy said quickly.

"I came as quick as I could, Master James," the ex-Overseer said in way of apology as he closed the shop's door behind him. "Is it true? Someone has seen the mark?"

Standing behind the counter, James nodded and looked down at Adrienne who sat in front of him. In her hands she held the unfolded paper with a blue rose upon a silver field.

"Again, just to be sure," the navy man said. His voice was calm, but his eyes seemed apprehensive. "This is the symbol you saw on the crate?"

"Yes, sir," the girl said with a quick nod. "On my life."

"And the name of this company?" Tuddleston asked. "You say it was Azure Bloom?"

"Yes, sir," she agreed then added, "_Azure Bloom Outfitters_ was the full name I believe, though the last word was faded moreso than the rest."

"_Azure Bloom Outfitters_," James repeated as he leaned back. "Finally, a clue. And from the one person I failed to ask."

"Well, what'll we do now?" Rollo interjected. "The lass said she was on a barge. Never saw the people who did the transporting. So other than some voices, she can't tell us who we need to go after."

The navy man pondered the situation for a moment then glanced at Adrienne again.

"She may not know, but Lucretia Dent does." His eyes narrowed. "I think it's time we paid Madame Dent a visit."

"She has a good amount of men at her beck and call," Rollo warned. "She won't be easy to talk to."

"Agreed. We must use caution on this." James shook his head. "As much as I want to simply barge right in, we need to be as prepared as possible."

He turned to Otto.

"I need you to go out again."

"Always ready, sir," the boy returned. "What do need, sir? Where shall I go?"

"To Gulldove Road," the navy man replied.

The boy's eyes widened in surprise and reflected just a hint of fear.

"You mean…?"

"Yes, we need to do this right. I need you to leave a message for... _the Tyvian_."

Rollo chuckled darkly.

"About damn time."

* * *

**A/N:**** To everyone following and reading this fic, I wanted to let you know that there will be a change next chapter:**

**AFTER THIS CHAPTER, THE RATING WILL CHANGE TO M!**

**I've tried to keep the rating to a 'T' but for the story I wish to tell, I unfortunately must raise the rating to 'M'. There are a few reasons behind this decision, and they will appear on the summary when the next chap comes out.**

**If, for some reason, this changes your mind about continuing to follow this fic, then I completely understand. I wish to thank everyone who has read, followed, or even glanced at my work. I truly appreciate everyone for doing so.**

**Thank you. :)**


	8. Chapter 7: Predators of Madness & Chaos

**AN: After another hiatus of about six months, I'm back. Again. Yay! Again!**

**Anyway, as stipulated in the author's notes at the end of my previous chap, I have changed the rating of this fic to M. Despite this change, I hope you continue to enjoy the little story laid out before you. If not, I completely understand and thank you for having followed me this far. :)**

**For those that are continuing to follow my tale, here is the next offering:**

* * *

**Favors**

Chapter 7

**Predators of Madness &amp; Chaos**

* * *

_**The Twenty-fourth Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837**_

_**South Commons District**_

_**A quarter past Nine at night**_

…

…

Otto Hieg made his way through the darkened alleys of Dunwall, shadows obscuring many of the secrets of the city. An occasional odd noise or furtive movement kept the lanky sixteen-year-old urchin to the sidestreets. He wasn't comfortable in this part of the city, especially at night, but Master James needed him for the task, assigned it to him specifically, and as always, he was eager to comply.

Though by no means a coward, some of the gangs had influence in this area, and while able to hold his own in a scrap, Otto knew numbers could easily win the day. He appeared a good target: better fed than most of the urchins in the area. His clean, dark-reddish brown hair and handsome features indicated his lack of plague sickness, and his clothes - a grey jacket, trousers, shirt, and a black bowler - were of a decent quality.

Ever since meeting the young flower girl Rosalie a few months back, with her doe-like eyes and long, brown curls, he tried to keep his appearance very presentable should she ever happen by Bleetmore. However, his current attire could well attract criminal-minded elements of the city and he quietly berated himself for not changing into something less noticeable before heading out on his mission.

"Just be a good lad, now," he muttered to himself. "Quiet and quick. It won't do a'tall if ya get waylaid while about your duties for Master James."

…

…

_An orphan, Otto had been conscripted into the Imperial Navy at the age of eleven and found service as one of three cabin boys aboard the large warship, the INV Guardian. Though the work was hard - learning the riggings, scrubbing the decks, and maintaining the vessel as well as he was able - the ship provided a safety that the orphanages and backalleys of Dunwall never could. _

_ It was during this time that he became acquainted with the Master d'arms of the vessel, James Dartley, who always seemed a fair and even-handed officer. However, it was shortly after Otto's second year of service, during a two-week campaign against a fierce band of pirates, that he learned the bravery of the navy man._

_In the midst of a rather vicious exchange in one of the campaign's bloodiest battles, the then thirteen-year-old was knocked overboard into the blood-frothed water of the Ocean. Barely able to swim, the cabin boy clung to whatever debris he could find. As the battle waged around and above him, dark shapes swam amongst the dead and dying bodies littering the waters surrounding the ships. A sailor Otto had served with, Clieg by name, floated face-down not ten feet from him. Suddenly in a surge of bloody foam, Clieg disappeared beneath the waves, pulled down by sharks that had followed the crimson wake of the two warring vessels._

_The same would surely have been his fate had Master James not dove into the murky waters, two lines of hemp rope tethered about his waist. The officer was quick and secured the boy with one of the lines in a matter of moments, signaling for those above to hoist them both back up. Once upon the deck, Master James made sure the boy was well-situated before attending to others who had been wounded during the fighting._

_He came to discover that is how the man operated: James Dartley was always the first to plunge head-on into any disaster and aid those who needed it, heedless of risk to himself. They became fast friends, despite their obvious difference in rank and importance aboard the ship, and Otto secretly swore complete loyalty to the officer._

_So it was that when Master James left the service to follow on some personal endeavor a year-and-a-half after that, Otto asked if he could come with him. His three years of service had passed, and he was free to leave whenever he wished. The officer agreed and took the boy with him._

…

…

A falling bottle clinking upon the stonework somewhere in the distance brought Otto quickly back to the task at hand. His grip tightened upon the folded switch-knife that he kept secreted in his palm as he continued on through the middle of the South Commons. The weapon was a treasured gift he had received from Master James two years ago for his fourteenth birthday, and the youth had learned to use it with surprising skill and efficiency.

Finally coming upon Gulldove Road, the urchin glanced down both ways of the street. Seeing nothing, he continued along the lane quietly, hands in his pockets and head held low, trying to draw as little attention as possible. After a couple of blocks, he paused by a particular shop and glanced around yet again.

Satisfied he wasn't spotted, he felt along one of the larger metal drainpipes running vertically from the roofs above. He flicked a small switch and a second later a click emanated from within the depths of the abandoned dress shop _McWinter's Fine Fashions_.

Retrieving a key from his jacket pocket, the boy unlocked the front door, glanced up the street one final time and then quickly entered the shop. Bolting the door behind him, Otto moved past a series of display shelves and circled around a large throw rug that concealed a pressure plate. Though he had disarmed the trap from outside, Otto still preferred avoiding the plate if possible.

Making his way to an unclothed mannequin in a street-side window, the boy slipped a small curled piece of paper into the mannequin's left hand. He then raised the dressmaker's dummy's right hand until it was above the figure's head.

Finished, he turned, passing a large mirror and made his way back out the front. Using the key once more, he locked the shop, reset the switch behind the large drainpipe and quickly moved along Gulldove Road back the way he came.

Allowing himself a slight smile for a job well-done, the boy hurried home, certain that his precautions allowed him to go unnoticed.

* * *

Despite the boy's precautions, his actions had not gone unnoticed by the predator hidden within the black gloom of the rooftops across the street on Gulldove Road.

Dark amber eyes peered from beneath the shadow of a tricorne hat as the youth went about his business near the abandoned storefronts. A long, black rifle barrel eased silently from the darkness and was braced upon the rooftop's clay tiles. The predator sighted down on him through the weapon's unique telescope attachment. Deft fingers gently turned the rings on the telescope, adjusting the lens and magnifying the target.

_-tik- -tik- -tik-_

The image of the urchin became clearly defined, even in the dim illumination provided by the distant streetlamps. The fingers slid carefully away from the adjusting rings and down to the guard. The index finger hovered just over the trigger waiting for any sharp movements from the boy who remained completely oblivious to the danger he was in.

The amber eyes followed the urchin's actions as he switched off the trap then looked about the street before unlocking the door. The eyes narrowed as the mannequin inside the window was repositioned. They watched as the boy exited the needle worker's shop, reset the trap, and then they followed the lad's progress along the street until he disappeared from sight.

The predator refocused his attention on the abandoned place of business then slowly withdrew into the confines of the rooftop shadows. He turned the collar of his greatcoat up to his face to repel the night chill, and waited. Moments passed into minutes, minutes into hours.

A light rain began falling across the area and the chilly precipitation dripped off of his heavy coat and hat. He kept his breathing shallow lest the mist of his warm breath give away his position. Occasionally he would tense a muscle then relax it to keep his body from cramping up in the damp weather. Midnight came and went then finally-

_**-Dong!-**_

The Clocktower sounded one in the morning.

He quickly disassembled his rifle - within the span of a minute it was apart and put away. He leaned forward then, surveiling the surrounding area with a cold, detached precision. The street was empty. Putting his hand upon the pommel of the sword sheathed at his side, he began making his way across the rain-slicked rooftops, his movements quick and sure despite his heavy garb.

Arriving at a large pipe that spanned the street he crossed it to the other side of Gulldove Road with balanced efficiency. Darting in and out of the shadows offered by air vents, chimneys, and the odd aesthetic design, the man in the tricorne hat finally reached his objective: the rooftop of the abandoned shop.

As he had done so many times in the past, he quietly removed a panel on one of the rooftop vents. He took off his greatcoat and hat, folding them neatly in a pile, and then slid through the opening. He distributed his weight evenly so as to neither warp the vent nor cause undo noise. Ten feet later he was at an opening that led to the upper attic. Dropping down, he slipped through the shadowed interior like a cat and made his way down two flights of stairs to the shop proper. Across the way was the mannequin, arm raised.

Avoiding the trapped throw rug, he passed the mirror and moved up to the dressmaker's dummy. Retrieving the rolled up piece of paper, he unfurled the small parchment. He half expected the missive to be in regards to some dim triviality with a fish merchant or chandler needing his aid.

Instead, the contents of the message surprised him.

He blinked and angled the paper to catch the light a little better, to make certain he read correctly.

..

_Friend Tyvian,_

_Unexpected news. The blue flower may have been found. Following up on the lead._

_Any aid you could lend would be most appreciated._

_-J_

_.._

His eyes widened. The flower found. A lead. Was it too much to hope for? Would the debt be paid? Would his personal madness end?

Such was his shock that he nearly stumbled into the mirror. He spun on his heel and hissed dryly at the figure framed within it: his own reflection.

Of Tyvian ancestry, the tall, dark brown-haired man reproduced within appeared to be in his early thirties, lean and in excellent physical condition. Clean-shaven, his handsome, angular features held a definite beauty about them, but none of this was noticed by the man. His amber eyes were instead drawn to the two scars on his face. The first was a small cut just above his left eye which was obscured somewhat by a small gold ring that pierced his eyebrow there. The latter, however, was far more noticeable, a white jagged thing that crossed the entirety of his throat and had robbed him of the ability to speak.

He curled his lips in disgust and covered the long scar with his hand, hiding the blemish that was his secret shame. Recovering from the initial shock the missive posed, he wasted no further time, and dashed as quickly as he could back up through the empty building, mindful of the trap and any noise that might be made.

Donning his protective clothing once again, he moved along the rooftops, crossed the street via the large pipe again, and then delved into the depths of the South Commons. Sharp-eyed lookouts would have had difficulties trying to spot him and even the fleetest of the Dunwall Watch would be hard-pressed to keep up with his pace on open ground as he made his way along the various gables, gambrel roofs, and parapets - that is if he had given them the chance.

The Tyvian allowed no such opportunities though, having picked his path carefully as he journeyed back to his hidden abode. He'd traversed the rooftops of the South Commons for nearly two years now and knew them as well as the gangs knew the streets below. Twenty minutes later, he finally arrived at the half-crumbling grey edifice, knowing none had followed him, and he slipped into the broken chimney that led to his room below.

Down a shattered stairway and across a wooden beam, that was much more solid than it appeared, he went and arrived at his room. Checking the door to make sure none had disturbed it while he had been away, the Tyvian entered. The loud ticking of the oddly built clock on his dresser greeted him from the darkness. He struck up a match and lit a small candle on an end table.

The time read fifty minutes past 1 in the morning, the 25th day of Rain, the 4th month.

First he needed to regain his strength. He snatched up a piece of bread from the dresser and ate it; it was dry but not moldy. Next he gathered fresh clothes that weren't damp. As he did so, a nearly imperceptible sound emanated from a small nightstand near the head of his bed.

_-tink-_

_You should rest._

Probably, but he was too stimulated at the prospect laid before him. The flower was found. The symbol discovered.

The sound repeated itself.

_-tink-_

'_May'. May have been found._

Yes, the flower _may_ have been found. But it was the first time James Dartley had sent such a missive. It was an opportunity not to be wasted.

He finished changing into dry clothes and began to check his weapons, laying them out upon the bed. The first to be set down was a common Watch pistol, an unremarkable spare weapon in case his others ever failed him, but they never did; still, he maintained the handgun should the need arise.

His disassembled rifle was already prepared for transport. Perhaps his greatest achievement, it was a distinctive tool of his own design. He had spent the better part of a year after his escape building, tweaking, and fine-tuning it. He'd been pleased with the result and hadn't seen the need to upgrade it further in the last seven months, though it did need constant maintenance due to its various unique parts. After gauging the current state of each part to his satisfaction, he made sure to pack extra whale oil and gas cylinders as well as ammunition for his trip.

Finally, there was his blade, Razor Keen. A rare weapon known as a Tyvian _shashka_, Razor Keen was a special kind of sabre: a very sharp, single-edged, single-handed, guardless sword. Crafted during an exacting process from the highly durable Tyvian ores and coated with an even more resilient silver metal, the weapon was surprisingly durable and extremely deadly in the hands of a skilled user, literally 'humming' through the air when wielded properly.

He'd received the blade when…

…when…

He couldn't recall.

_-tink-_

_It was when you saved the niece of Count Djankov, remember?_

Actually, he couldn't remember. Not all of it.

_-tink-_

_I could show you, should you wish it._

He looked over at the nightstand, eyes narrowed. He sat upon the bed and the old springs creaked in protest, but he ignored the noise as he quietly slid the bottom drawer of the nightstand open. Within lay a black handkerchief and what he sought lay bundled within that.

He reached in and gently grabbed the covered item, placing it on the bed next to him. Carefully he unwrapped the bundle until the candlelight reflected off the silver finish of the item. He gazed at it thoughtfully, gauging the risk involved.

_-tink-_

_You do need to rest._

He smirked wryly at the offer. Sometimes the damnable object would work on its own, drawing him away; other times, like now it seems, it asked permission. Should he do it?

Holding the object by the cloth, he looked it over as he had so many times before.

It was such a small item, the internal metal mechanism of a music box no more than three-and-a-half inches long. The ratchet lever, the bedplate, and the screws were all silver. Only the small cylinder and the comb with its eighteen tiny teeth were of a high quality brass.

Still gripping the article by the cloth, he flipped it over to look at the engraving on the bottom of the bedplate. It was in Old Serkonan.

_Adoro te Vigilantes Somnia._

"I adore watching you as you dream" is what the term translated into. It was the name of an older melody from the southernmost island of the Empire, and one that oddly fit the circumstance.

He grasped the sides very carefully, letting the black handkerchief fall away. With one last, quick glance at his clock - four minutes past 2 in the morning, the 25th day of Rain, the 4th month - he held the device in his left hand and turned the crankshaft. He steadied himself then let the ratchet go.

_-tink-tinka-tink-tink-tinka-tink-_

The tiny teeth caught on the pins of the brass cylinder as it spun in place and rang out the melody.

_-tink-tink-tinka-tinka-tink-tinka-tink-tinka-tink-tink-_

The tune continued playing and he thought, for just a second, that perhaps nothing would happen this time-

**-OOO-**

_Darkness was all about him._

_It had come on so suddenly, that he took a sharp breath in surprise and breathed in the frigid air. Frigid, yet somehow familiar. The smell of frost, of dark pines, of snow._

_He blinked and his surroundings came slowly into view, as if he were waking from a dream._

_He was deep within a forest. Judging by the light, it was just after dusk. And the air…_

_He breathed in again._

_The air was cold; his breath was visible even in this dim light. He looked about for a moment, trying to get his bearings. The dark shapes of the trees were lightened somewhat by the layer of snow on the branches and the ground. _

_This memory was from a while back, if the few snippets of remembrance he could recall were accurate. About seven years ago perhaps._

_As he surveyed the area, he noticed a large, black form in a tangled heap not ten feet from him._

"_Comrade, you have done it!" a shout came from behind him._

_He spun on his heel to address this abrupt intruder._

It's just Dmitri, _the disembodied voice informed him, _from your regiment. He is your friend.

_A young man dressed in a dark grey uniform and with black hair and the beginnings of a black beard and mustache approached him through the trees. Several other figures, similarly attired, followed behind him._

"_Hahah!" the young man - Dmitri - laughed. "You got it, eh? And with but a single shot? Always the finest rifleman among us."_

_He looked at the man, not quite certain how to reply._

"_And with just your old Zinoviev, too." The young man pointed at his hands._

_He looked down only to discover he had been holding a rifle this entire time. It was an older model single-shot, bolt-action rifle. He looked back up at Dmitri and gave a quick nod._

"_Always quiet you are, comrade," Dmitri said with a grin, then he turned to one of the other men that had approached the still form on the ground. "Pavlov?"_

"_One shot," the other man, Pavlov apparently, said. "An inch above the left eye. Damn, it was probably dead before it hit the ground."_

"_I have the girl!" another voice, younger, shouted out from the distance. "She is safe!"_

"_Bring her then, Yuri!" Dmitri called out._

"_You-you have her?" The men behind Dmitri parted as a taller individual stepped forward. He was thin and dressed in fine clothing, dark blue with a white half-cape, and a ceremonial sword at his hip. His hair was parted neatly and his black mustache was precisely trimmed. "You have my niece?"_

_The Tyvian narrowed his eyes at this newest arrival. For some reason, the tall, thin man seemed familiar._

"_Yes, Count Djankov," Dmitri replied. "My man Yuri has her."_

_As if on cue, a young soldier came into view. With him was a young girl of maybe a dozen plus years with green eyes and long hair done up in an intricate fashion that matched her rich, cultured attire. She seemed cold and a bit frightened._

"_My Anna!" Count Djankov said, eyes wide and with a broad smile upon his lips. He knelt down to her. "We have found you!"_

"_It-it was horrible, uncle," the girl said with a shiver. "The creature… the black creature." She shuddered again. "I could not escape it."_

"_You are safe now," her uncle assured her, and then stood up with a look towards Dmitri. "All thanks to this brave soldier and his men."_

"_No," Dmitri said with a shake of his head, and then looked at the silent man holding the rifle. "There is only one here who can claim victory this day. He spotted the girl. He gave the shout. He fired the bullet that struck the monster down."_

"_From five hundred feet at least," Pavlov added._

"_Five hundred? Try eight hundred, if an inch." Dmitri countered. "And in such dim lighting. On a moving target." He turned back to the count. "This is the man who saved your niece."_

_The count and his niece both turned to the silent man._

"_Thank you," the girl said._

_The Tyvian smiled at her sincere words._

"_My man, how do I thank you?" The count soundly clasped him upon the shoulder, then his face lit up. "I know!"_

_The count unbuckled the sword at his hip._

"_This blade," he said, holding the weapon up. "It may look merely ornamental, but I assure you, it is not. This shashka was crafted by Master Tokarev himself. Only thirty are known to exist. Compared to what you have given me this night, this sword seems a paltry remittance. Please, accept it nonetheless."_

_Dmitri and the rest of the soldiers were stunned by the act of generosity._

"_Its name in our original tongue is Britva Ostryy," the nobleman continued on. "It means Razor Keen. May it serve you as well in the future as you have served me now."_

_The Tyvian looked at the count, then nodded once before accepting the blade from him._

"_Quite a hero tonight, eh comrade?" Dmitri said with a deep chuckle. "I can't wait to hear what your Bella says when you tell her this tale." The dark-haired man turned to his soldiers. "Pavlov, gather up the horses. We need to get the count and young Anna out of this dreadful cold."_

_As the soldiers moved back the way they came, the silent man looked at the prized weapon in his hand. So, he was a hero? He fired a shot and slew a monster, and in the process saved a young, noble girl. Bella would be so proud of him when he told her the news._

Yes, I was proud when you told me, _the disembodied voice admitted. _I was so very proud of you, my brave soldier. But that is not the memory we are here for today. It is time. You have to leave, my brave soldier.

You have to wake up…

**-OOO-**

With a sharp intake of breath he was back. Once more, utter darkness surrounded him, but the smell of pine, the bitter frost, the snow, all of that was gone.

He shifted and the old springs in his bed again groaned their protest. A sharp pain was in his left hand from gripping the music box component so tightly. He slowly relaxed his hand, and set the metal mechanism down on the bed next to him. He felt around the end table for another candle as the previous one seemed to have gone out. Finding one, he lit it and quickly looked at the clock on his dresser.

Ten minutes past 4 in the morning, the 25th day of Rain, the 4th month.

Though the memory-like events in the forest had lasted less than ten minutes, two hours had slipped by here! Time always was skewed whenever the box took him. Sometimes it would be for only seconds, but there were instances when he'd lost more than an entire day. It was the reason he had such an elaborate clock on hand: to help him track how much time had actually passed.

One thing was in his favor though; he did feel rested.

_That was the overall plan, wasn't it?_ he thought angrily at the tiny device. Rather than reply, however, the apparatus now decided to be stubbornly quiet.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was mentally arguing with a wind-up machine. If anything proved he was mad, this was surely it.

He had no time to waste on such trifling thoughts, though. Gathering his equipment, including the silent contraption which he wrapped up again in the black handkerchief, he snuffed the candle. He then left the apartment and reset a string by the door to indicate whether or not someone had visited while he was away.

Within moments, he was across the wooden beam, up the broken stairway, and upon the roof again. He then made for the north.

Traversing rooftops and raised walkways at a quick pace, he soon found himself at a small stable attached to a pub known as _The Winking Vixen_. Clambering down to the street below, he approached the large entry door of the stable and rapped upon it. He waited a moment, then rapped on it once more.

"Snuh-uh?" came a half-drowsy sound from within the wooden building.

There was some rustling inside and then a small viewing hatch set within the door opened up. A pair of tired eyes squinted out through the hole then widened in surprise.

"Oh, it's you!" a heavy male voice said in surprise.

The hatch was closed then a moment later the sound of the stable door being unbarred from the inside followed. The door was opened by a heavyset, balding man in his late forties with an unkempt mustache. By the rumpled appearance of his attire he had been dozing at his desk.

"Come in, come in," the man bade. "I'll have her ready for you straight up."

The Tyvian entered and moved to the first stall as the stableman quickly gathered a war saddle, tack, and a blanket. Expertly, the attendant led out a large grey mare with a black mane from the first stall, and began saddling her.

The man, Basil Lanzer by name, had been aided by James in the past. As part of his recompense, Basil was to provide a quick shelter if any of the Undertakers required it or, in the case of the Tyvian, provide a permanent stall for his horse. Basil was to be ready whenever the tall foreigner should arrive for his steed and ask no questions of his comings and goings.

"Ready then, sir," the large man said after a bit. "As always."

The Tyvian nodded and then handed the man a gold coin, worth ten. Though he wasn't required to tip the man for his services, he knew the value of a good groomsman.

"Thank you, sir," Basil said with a grin.

He nodded again, then mounted his beast. After guiding her carefully out of the stable, he coaxed her into a faster gait, leaving _The Winking Vixen _behind.

A low, early morning fog was starting to roll up as he made his way quickly through the streets. That would help disguise his passage, as the echoes of the horse's hoofbeats upon the cobblestones would make pinpointing his position difficult.

As he hurried to meet up with the Undertakers, his thoughts drifted.

_The blue flower may have been found_, the note had said.

He wanted it very much to be true. He wanted his debt paid, he wanted to return home.

The predator from Tyvia wanted nothing more than this whole madness to end.

* * *

Sherrill Pathé was well-known in the South Commons. Despite a rough life growing up a courtesan on the street corners of Dunwall, the thirty-year-old still retained her beauty, her green eyes were still unclouded, her wavy red-gold hair still shone brightly, and her figure still attracted the attention of the men.

Tonight, however, luck seemed against her.

Foot traffic was particularly slow in the dark hours, and what few potential customers there had been were driven away by the cold rain that had fallen a few hours earlier. A damp chill settled in after that, and now a low fog cluttered up the streets and alleys. Any single gents who might be about would surely miss her.

As she stood near one of the sidewalls of a store, she pulled her cream-colored shawl closer about her shoulders to help keep the cold bitterness at bay. She'd managed to start a fire in one of the abandoned trash bins and tore another old poster from the bulletin boards to feed the waning flames.

After coaxing them a bit higher, she reached into her small reticule and pulled out a tin cigarette case. Opening it, she withdrew a small hand-wrapped cigarette and a pair of smoking tweezers. Clasping the stub within the tongs, she held it over the flame until the end lit.

She took a couple of quick drags upon it when she noticed a repetitious sound growing steadily louder. Curious, she stepped away from the wall and out toward the street only to be nearly run over as a lone rider, on a large grey mare no less, raced past.

She stumbled back with a mild curse and dropped her cigarette and tweezers in a puddle of water.

"Stupid chuffer!" she groused as she squatted down to pick up her items. "Och, ruined!"

She stood back up, shaking water off the tweezers and flicking the now useless cigarette stub into the fire of the trash bin. As the butt vanished into the flames, a stray curl of fog, of an odd purplish-blue tint, crept from the gloom and glided up her right arm and shoulder as if caressing her. The fog felt cold, like ice, and she shuddered quickly before moving back to the open flame.

"I can't wait until the sun comes up," she complained to no one in particular. It had been a miserable night and she just wanted it to be done.

"The morning sun always brings a fresh perspective, doesn't it?" a smooth male voice called from the darkness.

She jumped at the words and spun about, squinting into the murk.

"Who's there?"

A low chuckle, amused and somewhat sinister, echoed from the dark.

"My apologies, my dear lady," the voice said as a shape seemed to coalesce from the shadows themselves. "It is rather rude to sneak up on someone like that."

As Sherrill watched, a tall individual emerged from the fog. Just over six feet, the man was solidly built and square-shouldered. Of handsome countenance, he was in his late-thirties to early forties, clean-shaven, with dark hair that was barely beginning to show a touch of grey, and steel eyes that hinted at a dark intelligence.

His attire spoke of success: a tailor-fitted suit of black, a white button-down shirt of good craftsmanship, shiny well-made shoes, a top hat of newer make, and a long cloak, black on the outside and a silver material lining the inside.

"Uh, it's alright," Sherrill said quietly as she looked at him. He seemed much better than the usual lads who frequented this area. "Are you lost?"

"Lost?" he chuckled again as he approached. "No. Merely looking for something. Something special." He stared pointedly at her.

"Oh?" she replied, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "And have you found this special something yet?"

"I believe I may have." He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small white stiff piece of paper. "My card."

She took the proffered item with an eager grin. This one was of much higher standards than she was used to. Reading the words by the dim light of the fire, her eyes widened in surprise.

"You're a professor? And an artist?" She was impressed.

"Yes. Those are my professions. And that is my birth name."

She blinked and looked back up at him.

"Birth name?" She seemed confused. "You go by something else?"

"Indeed," he said, as he moved closer to her. "The local gazettes like to publish my work, my art, under the auspices of… _the_ _Beast of Whitecliff_."

She blinked for a moment, not certain that she had heard correctly, then suddenly fear began to take root. She took a step back only to bump into the stone wall behind her.

"Oh no, oh no," she began and made to scream.

The dark figure moved quickly though, clamping his right hand over her mouth to silence her. His other arm encircled her waist and pulled her close. She tried to push away from him, to squirm free, but his strength was unbelievable.

"I have need of you, pretty one," he growled and then a change began to overcome him.

His handsome features began to twist and warp. The color drained from his flesh, leaving him pale, like death itself. His arms seemed to stretch and the nails of his fingers extended into talon-like things. The steel color of his eyes drained away only to be replaced by a blood red hue and his teeth cracked and grew jagged, almost like shards of bone lining his mouth.

Sherrill twisted and tried kicking her assailant, struggling to get away. Her horror grew with each passing second as the man holding her became a bent thing from the darkest of nightmares. Finally, the changes stopped and a terrible smile split the once handsome face as he gazed hungrily upon her. She began shaking her head 'no' as a sinister chortle escaped him.

"Oh, do not worry, pretty one," his voice was still a smooth tone that belied his new appearance. "Rejoice instead. Your sacrifice goes on to aid me, and thus the dark-eyed Master himself! You are making sure the Outsider's will is done here in this fair city."

She tried screaming again, but the muffled sounds went unheard. He leaned in closer to her, his mouth opening wide, more like a serpent than a man. She struggled one final time before the jagged teeth pierced her neck and shoulder. Pain overwhelmed her as the teeth tore into her flesh. A soft crunching noise followed and her fingers dug into the man's clothing.

She still tried to fight him, to twist away even though it was futile. He moaned into her skin, drinking deep of her blood, of her very essence. She spasmed and shook as his brutal assault continued. The tortuous pain seemed to go on forever as he consumed her life.

Slowly, she began to fade; her grip loosened on his clothes and she slumped backwards against the wall. Finally her arms fell to her sides as her head began to tilt to the side. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she was dimly aware that he let go of her waist and held her against the wall with only the hand covering her mouth.

He pulled back, blood smeared across his lips as he looked down upon her.

"And now to complete the sacrifice in His name!"

The twisted creature held his free hand aloft and made a gesture. An odd symbol or tattoo on the back of his hand seemed to glow momentarily then shadows began to form about it. A dark blur engulfed his fingers then solidified, looking similar to a sword's pommel. As she watched, the shadows continued upward, becoming a blade for the sword.

"Goodbye, my pretty."

A low groan of protest was the most she could manage as he thrust the shadow-sword down at her. The blade pierced her chest, and new pain shot through her weakening form. Her back arched and she gurgled into his hand as blood began to well up into her throat.

The light began to mercifully dim then, as air and wind swirled about her. She felt herself being transported through the grey vacuum. Her very last thought, right before life left her, was the grim realization she would never see the sun again.

…

…

The dark predator the people of Gristol named the Beast of Whitecliff watched in fascination as the life left another one of his victims. His blade of shadow finished her, and as she expired, he held her close, almost lovingly, and then activated his ability to transverse through space.

He and his prey reformed on the rooftop and she slumped heavily against him, the last of her essence now gone. It was a necessary sacrifice after all. Her spirit's energy fueled the dark mana he needed to use his powers, to serve his patron. The Outsider would surely bestow even greater gifts upon his favored servant until one day he would be immortal and everlasting.

He chuckled silently to himself as his body reset, as bones snapped back into shape and his figure regained its original form. He did enjoy serving his master, but even more he enjoyed the power. The power of being a hunter. The power of being a marauder amongst a herd of sheep. None could stop him here, just as they failed to do so in the city of Whitecliff.

He was a predator of men and, looking over the grey city below, he reveled in the Chaos he committed.

* * *

**AN: And with the introduction of the Tyvian, we finally have the last of the little heroes of our play. I also managed to squeeze in a bit of exposition, and one of the villains of the tale. The last part with the introduction of the Beast of Whitecliff seemed to be pushing the 'T' rating and thus my decision to change it to 'M'.**

**Also, for those wondering, the South Commons District mentioned in the above chap, like Fhavre Square and the Schauke Dockyards are my own creation and not considered canon, thus don't appear in the original _Dishonored_ game. I have a map on the Dishonored Wiki under my profile there. My username is the same: MDGeistMD02. The map shows (roughly) where I have located my Districts so you can kinda see where the action takes place if you wish to check it out. :)**

**Thanks for reading. :)**


	9. Chapter 8: In Absence of Light

**A/N****: What the heck? I'm actually putting up another chapter in less than three months since my last one? I'm gonna ruin my reputation for procrastination if I keep this up! ;)**

**Anyway, on to other matters:**

**I am reposting this chapter because I was told that supposedly there were problems with it when I first posted it a while back - it didn't show or couldn't be accessed or something. After I thought I had fixed that, there were still apparently issues. Let me know. Thanks. :)**

* * *

**Favors**

Chapter 8

**In Absence of Light**

* * *

**_The Twenty-fifth Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837_**

**_The Tailors' District_**

**_The early hours before dawn._**

…

…

_-Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.-_

The small clock on the mantle counted off the seconds.

The constant, sharp, monotonous clicks of the gears usually helped James fall asleep.

Usually.

The new information gained yesterday from young Adrienne, however, occupied his thoughts. The _Azure Bloom Outfitters_. He now had a name, a direction, a purpose. He had focus once more.

Too great of a focus it would seem.

Finally giving up on sleep, the navy man climbed out of bed dressed only in a pair of trousers. He made his way quietly to the lavatory and shut the door.

Though a plainly designed room with a simple chamber pot and wash basin, the lavatory at least had a more modern wooden tub with a drain attachment underneath. Stoppering the drain, James began filling a bucket with hot water to pour into it. He had given serious thought to just running a pipe or hose directly to a tap on the tub itself, but as always he didn't think he'd remain here long enough to get much benefit from it.

Four times he had changed locations, to some little known side-street shop or an obscure back-alley apartment. Always on the move and never able to put down roots for too long, he seemed more a criminal on the run.

He was not, as far as he knew.

His chosen profession warranted a constant shift in venue, for while his Undertakers and he had indeed helped good, innocent folk, they also often crossed with vile persons while doing so. Some of these were dispatched readily, or taken away by the Watch like Murlyn and his Merry Boyz. But others still roamed free, or had confidants that sought to avenge their confederates upon himself and his friends.

Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it.

Almost as soon as the errant thought formed in his mind, he dismissed it again.

"It _is_ worth it," he said under his breath, angry at himself for even questioning his personal mission. It was for _her_, of course. All of this was for her. He swore it to her when he returned from his last voyage.

After the tub was sufficiently filled, he sat by the side and tested the temperature with his hand before removing the bandage from the wound on his arm. He then undressed completely and eased in. The warm water was inviting, offering comfort and relaxation. It was so unlike that dread chamber he found himself in seventeen months ago when last he disembarked from the _Guardian_. So unlike it indeed…

* * *

_Seventeen months ago James, Vivianna, and Albert had followed the Watch Officer to the cellar entrance and waited as he opened the metal cover built into the stonework. Steep stone steps ended in darkness. Their escort climbed down and momentarily vanished into shadow._

_In the absence of light, a spark flared and a small candelabrum was lit._

_"This way," the man said from below, "if you please."_

_Solemnly, the trio followed. Into the grey-black labyrinth beneath the streets. Cold brick finished on the inside with pressed brick sealed them away from the residents of the city. Sealed them away from the living and brought them to the dead._

_Within these confining walls lay, quite literally, the coldness of the grave._

_James had experienced bitter temperatures before. On the high seas, in the vast Ocean northeast of Morley, with no land in sight. During the frigid months of High Cold and Ice. Hail pelting down upon the deck from the clouds overhead, freezing seawater crashing against the bow as the Guardian dipped between the massive waves of deep winter._

_Men shivered and cursed. Limbs went numb. Bones ached and skin burned from the sheer brutality of it all. But it had at least been a _**living**_ cold, like the breath of some horrid frost creature from legends past. The cold of the Ocean's winters moved, breathed, fought, and howled._

_Here, however, in this bleak place the coldness had none of those qualities. It became a damp, hovering, palpable thing that nipped at their shoulders and arms and sought to drain away the heat, the vitality, the very life from them. There was no movement here, save the echoing of their footsteps and the slight crunching of loose gravel beneath their shoes. The permeating darkness was barely kept at bay by the flickering candles, giving way only grudgingly, and then flowing to eagerly fill the void behind them again. In essence, swallowing them up within this tomb._

_The squared contours of a large door slowly took shape as they proceeded along. The officer stopped at the metal barrier and pulled a large iron ring set in it. Well-oiled hinges lessened the sound of groaning metal and light from several whale oil-powered lanterns lit the large room ahead revealing two other individuals waiting within. The darkness surrounding the visitors lessened as this light spilled forth, beckoning them closer._

_"In here, please," their guide said, stepping aside to let them pass._

_In this catacomb several wooden tables were set up. Each seemed to hold a different combination of bottles, jars, and beakers along with various metal and wooden tools. Chairs were set at the far wall of the room, and the center was dominated by a larger stone table fixed with a metal top._

_Upon this central slab was a white sheet covering what was obviously a body._

_James hesitated._

_In the Ocean, on the deck of the Guardian, on his ship, he was considered a hero. Against pirates and other miscreants he had led charge after charge with the men beneath him. He had fought on blood-soaked decks of enemy vessels, looked down the barrels of pistols held by traitorous brigands, dove headlong into shark-infested waters to save a cabin boy. Never once had he given pause._

_Yet now… he froze._

_Something twisted in his gut. His limbs felt strangely heavy, unwilling to move. He didn't know what to do._

_As he stood in the doorway, a light touch appeared on his arm as Vivianna snaked her hand beneath his elbow, wrapped her fingers around his forearm, and gripped him gently._

_"I'm here," she whispered up to him. "I'm with you, my darling. Always."_

_Those few words were enough. With her by his side, he could proceed. With her here he could do anything, even this._

_He nodded, laid his other hand across her fingers on his arm, and then advanced. _

_One of the two men already occupying the room stepped forward. He, too, was dressed as an officer of the Watch._

_"I am First Lieutenant Roger Landon of Dunwall's Fourth Division," he said in a reserved tone. "I appreciate your time in coming here."_

_At five-foot-ten, Landon was clean-shaven with black, curly hair and long sideburns. He seemed young, but his dark eyes held a deeper wisdom, his movements were certain, and his mannerisms respectful._

_"Doctor Collier, if you would."_

_The room's other inhabitant, a thin, shorter man in his late forties with a receding hairline and a thick white mustache, nodded once, stepped to the large, covered table, and pulled back the sheet. Vivianna's fingers clenched into James' arm as the figure upon the table was revealed._

_It was her._

_Constance Dartley._

_She lay in silence like some unblemished porcelain sculpture, calm and serene. Her beauty had not been marred – the bluish-tinted light shed from the whale oil lamps disguised any pallor from death's embrace. At any moment, James expected her to sit up, to open those pale blue eyes of hers and look upon him again, perhaps even playfully berating him for his tardiness to her missive._

_"It was the storm," he muttered, his voice barely over a whisper, more to her than anyone else in the room._

_"I'm sorry, sir?" Lieutenant Landon asked. _

_"It was the storm," he repeated, steadying his voice as he stared at her. "She sent for me, by letter. The storm south of Dunwall kept us away. I am three days late."_

_"So this is-?" the lieutenant's question trailed off._

_Why was she here? How could this have happened? It made no sense._

_"Sir?"_

_Always the strategist, the thinker, the planner, his brain decided at this crucial moment to cease functioning. He sought answers, but barely knew what questions to ask. Thoughts eluded him as he stood there unable to focus on anything but her unmoving form, on the soft features of her still face._

_"Master Dartley?"_

_He'd told her - assured her - that he'd always be there for her. That nothing would deter him from her summons, but nature conspired against him, in the form of a maddening storm that ravaged the southern coast of Gristol. The Guardian had barely crept through it, and made land three days behind schedule._

_"Sir, are you alright?"_

_Vivianna's grip tightened on his arm again and then she spoke._

_"Yes, this is Constance Dartley, his cousin. I was well acquainted with her." She tugged on his arm and moved him away from the center table. "Here now, James, let's sit you over there." She guided him to the row of chairs by the far wall, where he took a seat._

_She leaned down and gently brushed her fingers along the edge of his face, drawing his attention to her. Her gaze locked with his._

_"I'll reply to their inquiries while you just stay here, alright now?"_

_He nodded sullenly._

_"Right then," she replied in a low tone, keeping her eyes fixed upon him. "Albert, be a dear and sit with James, won't you?"_

_"Immediately, my Lady Grey," Tuddleston said, his usually merry voice subdued as he moved into the chair next to James._

_What followed was a series of brief movements and low dialogue as Vivianna answered the young Watch Officer's questions._

_"Her age?"_

_"She has just recently turned twenty-three."_

_"Single?"_

_"She had become recently engaged."_

_"Occupation?"_

_"She is, or was rather, the lead assistant at the Atherton Almshouse, on Framling Street, in the South Commons."_

_"Can you confirm her residence?"_

_"71 Tanger Way."_

_"That's on the western edge of the Tailors' District, is it not?"_

_"Correct. Just north of Silverkiel Groves."_

_"That would make sense if she were on her way home. She possessed no vehicle of her own?"_

_"No. She usually obtained the services of a late coach."_

_"You are aware, I assume, she has been accused of heresy by a branch of the Warfare Overseers?"_

_"I have heard such a rumor, yes." The tone in her voice indicated skepticism._

_"You don't believe it, then?"_

_"That she was taken by members of the Abbey? Yes. That Constance was a heretic? No, I do not."_

_"And you had no contact with her during this time?"_

_"During her unjust and false incarceration, for that is what it was? No, I did not; I only just learned of this situation." _

_"So you do believe she was seized unfairly?"_

_"I believe a great many things, my dear Lieutenant Landon, chief among them at this moment is the lack of competency on the part of the Overseers of the Everyman. Their fanatic zest aside, I am not inclined to credit their skills when a slip of a girl can not only perpetrate her own escape from their holding cells, but can then make her way across nearly a whole district while evading them."_

_"We suspect Ms. Dartley was going back to her residence when this unfortunate circumstance befell her."_

_"Hmm…" she replied, her skepticism still apparent._

_The young man unfolded a parchment of some type. In his morose state, it took James a moment to realize it was a map. The officer placed one hand on the map and used the other to trace some sort of path._

_"Might I examine her clothing?" Vivianna asked._

_The officer nodded once and indicated for the doctor to hand the items over._

_"Single sword mark there," the shorter man indicated the only stain upon the clothing: a red spot on the white shirt. "A strong blow I'd say, to pierce as far into her as it did. Death was quick, maybe a minute or two at most."_

_"Any other wounds?" Vivianna asked as she looked over the shirt and jacket, then examined the skirt, shoes, cord belt, and reticule with a clinical eye._

_"Other wounds?" the doctor repeated. "No, nothing."_

_"No defensive wounds? Abrasions? Incidental marks?"_

_"She has only the single puncture in her chest," the doctor replied. "I am quite certain of it."_

_"Quite lucky for her assaulter then," she remarked. "To strike so quickly and with precision on my dear friend as she walked home."_

_"We believe she was knocked down during a robbery gone wrong," the officer called over as he continued looking at the map. "The angle seems to indicate that her attacker stood above her."_

_"Say again?"_

_"Yes," the doctor agreed. "The thrust goes through her chest and travels upward. She was either stabbed by someone the size of a child, or the attacker was above her, aiming downward."_

_"And where was this?"_

_"Here," the officer said, indicating a spot on the map. "Donner Street, near the Parkley Crossing."_

_"That seems a bit odd for her," she noted, doubt lingering in her voice. "The area isn't terribly well lit if memory serves."_

_"Ah," the doctor said as he glanced at the map parchment. "Mesh plant houses, just east of there. I've seen it before. Addiction is a common enough affliction for younger people. Especially if she wanted to calm herself after the Overseers' accusations."_

_Vivianna turned to the man._

_"My dear friend was no partaker of such, I assure you."_

_"Then it was just poor judgment brought on by her stress," he returned. "Too eager to get home."_

_The last struck something deep within James' damaged psyche; his eye twitched and suddenly he had focus again._

_"What did you say?" the words came before he realized he'd spoken them, even as he rose from his seat and moved forward._

_The others turned to look at him as he advanced towards the smaller man._

_"I-I'm sorry?" the doctor asked with an uncertain tone._

_"First you accuse my cousin of being an addict," his voice became an angry growl and all of a sudden he was reaching out. "Then you question her common sense? All the while supporting the notion that she is somehow a heretic?"_

_He grabbed the man by the vest and yanked him bodily off his feet, years at sea and newfound anger fueling his strength._

_"How __**dare**__ you?"_

_Lieutenant Landon moved quickly and called to the other Watch Officer standing guard outside the room._

_"Byers, swiftly!"_

_The summoned man entered immediately._

_The two constables grabbed James then, one on either arm, as Tuddleston rushed to aid them. It took the three men combined to pull him away from the startled physician, and even then he wouldn't give in. Finally, Vivianna interposed herself between him and the quivering medical practitioner._

_"James, James," she spoke to him calmly but firmly. "I need you to focus. Please, look over these accouterments. Make sure they are in order. For Constance, my darling." _

_The latter statement seemed to still him, and he relented, allowing the men to guide him back._

_"Doctor Collier, if you would be so kind to leave us for now," Lieutenant Landon ordered the stricken man who was only too happy to comply. "Byers, go with him."_

_The other officer glanced at James to make certain he had calmed down sufficiently before giving a sharp nod and then followed the shaken doctor out of the room._

_Vivianna laid the clothing items before him, hesitating only when she set down the bloodstained shirt. _

_"Are these correct?" she asked. "Anything missing?"_

_He glanced down at the items, his gaze lingering on the reticule the longest. The name __**Constance Dartley**__ was stitched onto it._

_"I gave this to her," he muttered, as his thumb traced the letters._

_He took a deep breath then, and shut his eyes with a sigh. He cleared his mind, collected his thoughts, and reopened his eyes once more._

_"Her belt pouch is missing," he stated in a steady voice after a moment. "So, it was a robbery after all. A simple, stupid bit of chance."_

_"Hm, I wonder," Vivianna mused, still examining the items before her. "Why go through the trouble of untying the cord belt, when her assaulter obviously had a blade?"_

_"It wasn't," Landon said._

_"I'm sorry, what?" the young woman turned to him. "You mean to say the belt was still tied about her waist?"_

_"Yes, it was," the lieutenant replied, then a peculiar look formed on his face. "Wait. That doesn't make sense."_

_He paused in consideration then spoke again._

_"And something else you mentioned earlier, my Lady… Grey, was it?"_

_She nodded._

_"There were no other wounds," he said. "Not even bruising when she was struck down, or even as she fell. The jacket could have shielded some of that, but not all."_

_Vivianna smiled. "You are a clever one, my dear Lieutenant Landon."_

_"And the jacket, the skirt," he went on as he looked over the pair of items. "There is some dirt, yes, but only where she laid upon the stonework. Would not such an assault have gotten more upon her? Ground it in? Oh, damn me for not seeing this earlier."_

_James blinked in confusion. There was obviously something his mind wasn't quite piecing together._

_"I don't understand," he said. "What are you saying?"_

_Vivianna turned to him, grief mixed with a hint of revulsion upon her face._

_"The worst possible case, my darling James. Constance was taken from us, not by some whim or sad happenstance, but with focused determination." She leaned forward then, and her words stabbed through him as surely as any blade. "Someone wanted her dead."_

* * *

A gentle rap upon the lavatory door startled him, breaking him from his sad revelry.

He'd almost been asleep. Apparently solace was to be found in soothing waters and cheerless remembrances. As he got out of the tub and toweled himself off, an odd thought occurred. What if he had fallen asleep, slipped down further in the tub, and then perhaps drowned? A navy man, perishing not at sea amongst the rolling waves during some Void-spawned storm, but in a calm bath less than four-and-a-half feet long.

The Outsider would surely snatch his spirit away for such a chaotically dim-witted death, he thought with a wry smirk.

The light knock repeated itself upon the door as he put his trousers back on.

"Master James?" the hushed voice of young Otto inquired. "Are you up then, sir?"

"A moment, lad," James returned as he grabbed some fresh linen strips and rewrapped the wound on his arm. It was well on the mend; he didn't need it to get infected now, especially with the Rat Plague rampant.

Finally he opened the door, outside of which stood young Otto.

"Just the two of us up at this dark hour, eh?" he asked.

"Yessir," came the boy's quick reply. "Mr. Tuddleston's asleep at 'is desk."

James scoffed lightly.

"Again?"

"I fear so, sir."

"Very well," he said, exiting the lavatory. "It's five in the morning, correct?"

"Nearly 'alf past by now, sir."

"Come with me then."

He led Otto back to his own room where the young lad paused and waited respectfully just outside the doorway, training from his years aboard ship taking over momentarily. James grabbed up a key and unlocked a small strongbox set upon a low counter. Sorting through the various coins, he selected some and then relocked the coffer.

"I need flowers for my cousin," he said as he approached Otto once again. "I'm going to visit her today. Please choose something appropriate from your friend, Rosalie. Tell her to keep the rest."

He handed over two gold coins, each worth ten, to the lad.

Otto's eyes lit up.

"Yessir! Right away, sir!"

"Good lad," James said, as the youth went back to the main room and retrieved his black bowler, black scarf, and grey jacket.

The boy unlocked the front door, opened it quietly, then slipped through, relocking it behind him.

James put on a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of boots before going to find Mr. Tuddleston. True to Otto's word, the large scribe was at his desk, leaned back in his comfortable chair.

Eyes closed and breathing lightly, Albert sat still clutching a small book against his chest. Similar tomes were spread upon his desk in various stages of disarray, some open, some set neatly in stacks. The candles in the candelabrum atop the desk were burnt down nearly to stubs and did little to illuminate the area.

With a shake of his head, James went to a large freestanding iron stove positioned against the northern wall. He opened the grill and used a poker to stir the dying cinders of the coal within. Using the tongs that hung on the wall, he refilled the cavity, coaxing the embers a bit higher. Closing the grill again, he next grabbed the lid lifter from the same rack on the wall, hooked one of the round lids on the stovetop, then lifted and loudly dropped the heavy piece of iron. Twice.

A light stirring came from the direction of the desk and James turned to his friend.

"Oh, you're awake. How nice."

A low groan from the scribe was his response.

"You know," the navy man continued as he approached. "…we needn't worry about enemies attacking if the shop burns down about us."

"Ah mother," Tuddleston murmured blearily as he sat upright. "You've returned from the Void to visit your poor son only to berate him." He looked up at James. "And you've taken on a quite disconcerting form."

The navy man chuckled at the remark.

"Your obnoxious behavior aside," the scribe went on as he placed the small book back amongst its fellows, "…I've learned nothing about the supplier."

Seeing the uncertain look upon James' face, he explained.

"_Drendem's Financials_. _Bower's Guide to Business Essentials_. _The Gristol Venture References_, years 1832 to 1836. None bear any mention of this _Azure Bloom Outfitters_," he groused. "I have completely failed."

"It's alright, my friend," James replied. "We will find the answers we need. Seventeen months of work and patience have given us this opportunity." His voice remained steady, but an anxious glimmer shown in his eyes briefly before discipline took control once again. "We will find where this leads, but first, I wish to share the news."

Tuddleston leaned forward with a smile.

"Ah! We are to see Lady Grey and Master William then?" He nodded with enthusiasm. "I daresay some good news to spread about is definitely in order. Since her visit at the beginning of this month I have thought much of our dear Vivianna. Her absence is felt most keenly."

"Um, not yet." James pursed his lips as he glanced at the floor. "I will tell Constance first. I feel she should know. I would ask that you go with me."

"Quite so, quite so!" the redheaded man exclaimed as he stood and began snuffing the candle stubs. "Then we're off across the Wrenhaven! Lady Grey should be told next, I would think. Then a visit to William Averling afterwards. Capital idea. Capital idea indeed!"

"No."

Tuddleston blinked and looked over at his companion.

"I'm sorry?" he asked. "Why would we not?"

James flicked his eyes up and stared at the man.

"The information is very obscure at the moment," he said, matter-of-factly. "We should follow it up first. Make sure it pans out properly before we alert anyone else. No reason to offer what may simply be false hopes just yet."

"I see," Tuddleston replied in a flat tone void of his usual joviality.

"Besides-"

"Besides," the scribe interrupted quickly, "…that would require you to make time for those still with us. As opposed to dwelling solely amongst the-"

"Do not finish that sentence, Mr. Tuddleston. Let's not argue. Not today."

The heavyset man paused then his eyes narrowed just a bit.

"Quite so. I will make preparations to accompany you. I take it I will be allowed at least enough time to freshen up a bit?"

"Yes. It's quarter of six now. I have a few more things to prepare. Let's leave at seven."

"Very well."

The sound of the front door opening then closing a moment later interrupted the pair. Furtive noises followed, then young Otto appeared at Tuddleston's door.

"Mornin', Mr. Tuddleston," the boy greeted quickly, his hat in his hand.

"To you as well, my good lad. Do come in. Do come in."

The boy did as he was bid, moving over to James. He held out a large bouquet of flowers, the stems wrapped in green wax paper.

"Master James, Rosalie said to tell you," the boy began, putting effort into relaying the message properly, "she didn't 'ave any orchids which would 'ave been most proper. She apologized, and then made up this, uh, arrangement she called it, of daisies and white carnations."

He pointed to the white flowers set amongst the red, yellow, and blue.

"Those ones are the carnations, she said, and the freshest of her lot," he explained, quite proud to have remembered.

A light smile played upon the seaman's lips as he said, "Well done, Otto."

He took the bouquet then signaled for the boy to follow him as he left Tuddleston's room.

"I need you to go out again. Find the others. Rollo, Ademar, Erin and Etiennette. I will have a message for them each."

"Yessir. Anything you need."

* * *

Despite the bumpy ride, the motorized carriage made decent time along the cobblestone streets. James and Albert soon left the Tailors' District behind, and the wider avenues of the Old Patricians Estates opened up before them.

One of the southernmost districts of the city, the Old Patricians Estates held the residences of some of the first nobility to call Dunwall home, as well as those families that had served them faithfully. Along with the neighboring Silverkiel Groves District immediately to the west, the Old Patricians Estates was where the old money lay, where the purest lineages dwelt, and from where the heart of the noble houses had once sprung. Many of the newer, richer, and more influential noble families moved north of the Wrenhaven to the Estates District, but there were still prominent families to be found here, both aristocratic and otherwise.

As Tuddleston piloted the vehicle, James looked about the area, noting the grand manors and estates scattered throughout the district, as well as the smaller, lesser properties surrounding them.

The Dartley line had once held a modest position here. Not nobility themselves, the Dartleys had always been looked upon favorably by those of higher stations. Usually retaining positions as administrators, seneschals, stewards, officers and the like, James' clan had always been seen as loyal supporters of Gristian ideals. Many of their daughters married into wealthier families, and many of their sons were known to have keen prospects ahead of them.

Despite this, wars took heavy tolls upon the line's numbers throughout the years. In 1801, during the Morley Insurrection, the Dartleys had come close to being snuffed out entirely. Now, thirty-six years later, James alone represented the entire future of his family.

_A family that may soon become extinct_, he thought grimly to himself.

"Here we are," Tuddleston said suddenly, stirring him from his dour reflections.

_Coldorness Cemetery._

A two hundred acre rural cemetery near the heart of the district, Coldorness held several mausoleums for noble lines, abundant columbaria to house the cinerary urns of the faithful fallen soldiers of the Empire, and numerous sarcophagi and standing vaults for lesser families. Established over one hundred seventy years ago and protected by an eight foot wall of white stone blocks taken from a quarry near Whitecliff, Coldorness was still a place of peaceful serenity in a city being ravaged by the Rat Plague. A dedicated arboretum in its center evoked a sense of quiet tranquility. The numerous trees and shrubs were well-maintained, and the lots were respectfully cared for.

Exiting their coach, the two men walked along the quiet paths, moving through history carved in stone and captured upon small metal placards. Names, dates, and bas-reliefs all reflecting bygone eras, friends lost to time, and ages past surrounded the pair. Statues of cloaked figures, protective Overseers, playful children, and even watchful beasts inhabited the grounds, all caught in mid-movement or solemn stance, frozen forever and silent to keep company with the equally quiet departed.

Even now in the dead of winter, Coldorness was not some grim reminder of loss, nor an austere site of unforgiving strictures. Rather, it was a garden locale that acknowledged the circle of life and death, considerate to both and allowing visitors the opportunity to sit with their loved ones and not bring judgment upon them.

It was a setting worthy of his cousin.

She had almost not been interred though, as rumors of her being a heretic followed her unjustly. However, it was Vivianna Grey who stepped forward to deal with those that opposed her burial here. Being an important scion of a constituency loyal to House Carmine, Vivianna was able to persuade the naysayers, through means both diplomatic and otherwise, that it would be best to allow the girl to rest peacefully alongside the other fallen members of her household.

On the southeastern edge, near a backdrop of pines and flowering bushes dormant now during these cold months was the Dartley Vault. Of grey marble, the roofed but open structure was lined on the inside with various receptacles, each with an engraved brass plaque displaying the name of the occupant within. At the end of the far right side, sealed with a heavy marble cap was her final resting place.

The commemorative inscription, not yet worn by the weather, read:

_"Constance Dartley_

_Born the 22__nd__ Day of the Month of Songs, 1812_

_Died the 4__th__ Day of the Month of Earth, 1836_

_A Light extinguished too soon."_

There was a tightness in James' cheeks and a slight pinch in his throat. He took a quick, sharp breath and brushed his fingertips against the letters of her name.

"Hello, Connie," he said simply. "It's been a bit, I'm sorry to say. I have no real excuse."

He placed the bouquet within the holder mounted to the cap.

"Albert is here as well," he said, indicating the heavyset man standing reverently behind him. "He's doing his best to keep me out of trouble."

"And failing spectacularly, it should be noted," the large man announced.

James chuckled wryly.

"Yes, that's about the extent of it." He turned back, his head bowed low. "Vivianna recently visited at my request. She is as lovely as ever, and misses you as much as I."

He voice caught for a moment and he swallowed before continuing.

"I've never stopped. _We've_ never stopped. The others who have been helping me. Been helping us. They're good people. Loyal. Decent."

He raised his head again and gazed for a while upon her name.

Finally he said, "We have a lead. From a young girl we aided. We may be able to press on. We may be able to find justice finally. For you."

He closed his eyes then wrung his hands together.

"We're close, Connie. Close. We'll do this right. We'll find who is responsible."

He sighed and then opened his eyes.

"I wish you were still here. I miss you so."

"James?" a new voice called suddenly from just outside the building. "James Dartley? Is it really you? And Albert as well?"

Surprised at the noise, the navy man spun on his heel and nearly drew his sword. Tuddleston turned as well as the new arrival entered. They both recognized him immediately.

He was William Averling, the young man who had been Constance's fiancé.

* * *

"I'm so glad to finally see you again," the nervous young man repeated from his seat across from them. "It has been too long. Yes, yes, too long."

William Averling was twenty-six years old, flaxen-haired and handsome, if a bit thin, with pensive blue eyes, a clean-shaven face, thin nervous lips and the dress and bearing of a professional barrister. As was often the situation, he bore a thick sheaf of loose documents and had a habitual worrying tendency of checking his pocket-watch every few minutes.

Hailing from the Estates District, he had an appointment today to meet with a client living in the Old Patricians Estates and had decided to arrive early so that he might visit Constance's grave. Finding James and Albert there was mere happenstance. After leaving a flower alongside those James brought, he asked if the pair might enjoy a quick refreshment before going back about their way. Hesitant at first, James finally relented under Tuddleston's constant stare.

They went to a tea room, a small establishment where teas and small cakes were served, that was located close to Coldorness Cemetery and found a table near the front.

"I read about your exploits in the _Gentlemen's Chronicle, _of course. Against that vicious gang of Merry Boyz." He tittered for a moment before taking a sip of his tea. "Well done, yes. Well done, indeed."

"We were only able to remove such a vile gang because you put us upon the scent to begin with," Tuddleston returned. "You did well in sending over that particular client, truth be told."

"Mm, yes, yes," the young man said with a quick nod of his head before taking another sip. He then looked up at James. "And now, if I overheard you correctly, you have a link? A clue? To the case of this whole maddening affair?"

"We have a lead finally," James admitted. "A girl we rescued during that incident with the Merry Boyz had seen the symbol before. The blue rose upon the silver field."

The young man went wide-eyed and then tittered again.

"So, it may be over soon, then, yes? The entire miserable situation. Shelved away like some wretched dream. Forgotten and alone."

"It's just a minor lead so far, William," James said carefully. "There may still be much to do."

"Ah, true, true." The young barrister sat quietly for a moment, pondering. After a few seconds, he retrieved his pocket-watch, clicked it open and glanced at the time. "Forty past eight," he muttered to no one in particular before closing it again.

William Averling had not always been this way. Once, he was a promising barrister with many prospects before him. He'd met Constance three years ago at an art showing in the South Commons of all places and fell in love with her soon after. To his credit, the young man was able to gain her affections as well.

Admittedly, James had not been overly impressed with the young man when he first met him shortly after the couple began courting. He was too slight and obviously had no martial training. James doubted he had ever held a sword save as a curiosity. Despite this, William was good to Constance, appreciated her, treated her respectfully, and most importantly of all, he made her _happy_, something that eventually won over the stern navy officer.

However, while her passing had wounded James sorely, it had very nearly destroyed the young, excitable barrister. He became gravely ill and nearly catatonic, requiring supervision for a time. Finally regaining some slight semblance of his old self again, William nonetheless was distraught by the fact that he could do nothing to help. Bound by the tenants of the law, his whole life and beliefs entwined with it, he found that the thing he had the greatest passion for now hampered his efforts to bring some measure of justice for his beloved fiancé.

The effect was maddening. Had James not offered to have him 'interview' potential candidates for the Undertakers to assist, William may well have relapsed into his catatonic state. As it was, the young man developed some odd nervous tendencies that affected him occasionally.

"You are well, otherwise?" James put forth.

"Yes, yes. Quite well." The young man nodded, his gaze lingering on the dinnerware before them. "The plague seems good for business, I am sad to say. Accounts being adjusted, wills rewritten, deeds amended. I've been kept busy. Very busy, yes."

"I suppose men with knowledge of a legal bent are most needed these days," Tuddleston agreed.

"Indeed. Rudshore's flooding sent the lot of the stuffier ones packing." He tittered again. "There is the newer position of the City Barrister in the Legal District. He seems an amiable old fellow. I have thought of applying there myself. Even if I don't get a position with him, I am sure there will be openings available vacated by those he does accept."

"That does sound like a grand scheme," Tuddleston said in approval.

"It does, yes." William took another small sip of his tea then his face lit up and he glanced at James. "Ah, I had the pleasure of a visit from Vivianna. Most recently, yes. It was on the tenth of this month. She said she had just been to see you the week before."

"That is true," James confirmed.

William smiled.

"Good, good indeed. When she visited, I had just finished drafting some tedious billing rights. I had the rest of the afternoon free and we made nearly a day of it!" A genuine smile formed on his lips. "We talked of things, of Constance, of the city, the current state of the people here, and even the sad affair of the Empress. Not the brightest of subjects, but I enjoyed the company. It was quite nice, yes."

He set his cup down then went to his sheaf of papers and began rifling through them.

"She gave me something. Something she had written shortly after her visit to you. She wished me to have it. Oh confound it, where is- AHA!"

With a flourish of victory he withdrew a single paper from the bundled mess and set it down before them.

"Here it is, yes! One of her little poems."

"She's writing again?" James asked, a hint of pleasant surprise in his voice. "It has been a long time since she has done so."

He gently took up the paper and read what had been written upon it:

…

**_In Absence of Light_**

_-an elegy by Vivianna Grey-_

_In Absence of Light, where shadows lengthen and delight does wane, a dreary numbness unfolds._

_In this lightless landscape, hope becomes a half-dreamt remembrance, an evasive, baleful thing…_

_… forever leading desperate seekers astray._

_In Absence of Light, life appears grey, colors become ashen. Existence becomes habitual, a shallow swale of fetid seclusion. _

_The dearth of your presence fuels this, leaving hollowness within, where heartbeats echo in dwindling tone…_

_… until their resonance is muted and still._

_In Absence of Light, lonesomeness abounds, and though not tethered here, wretchedly I find myself at home._

_..._

He tilted the paper so Tuddleston could read it as well.

"Interesting," the scribe said. "I've always preferred perfect rhyme, meter, and form in poetry, but her freestyle can be quite fascinating."

James furrowed his brow.

"It seems so sad. Lonely."

"Mm, yes, yes!" William cut in suddenly. "I am by no means an authority, but I believe I have deduced its meaning!" He giggled in excitement.

"Oh?"

"Indeed!" William retrieved the paper. "It's a warning, see? She wrote it after her visit to you, and gifted it to me! She worries, I think, that this business with Constance will consume me. That I can, as the poem says, leave the lightless realm, that I am '_not tethered here _' but seek to stay on my own accord. That I will never see the light again."

"Perhaps," James said quietly.

William looked particularly proud of his deductive achievement, then clicked open his watch once again.

"Oh my. Ten minutes to nine. I do need to get going if I am to keep my appointment." He frowned, then looked at his company. "We should do this another time. I would like to see you again, if that is alright. Maybe my offices next time? Vivianna has extended a gracious invitation to her family home up north but I was never one for the open country. Secluded offices, small libraries, and the like are more my style."

"I understand completely, my dear fellow," Tuddleston said with a chuckle. "Such are my preferences as well."

William smiled again then glanced at James, a quiet desperation in his eyes.

"That would be fine," the seaman agreed. "On my word, we shall meet again soon."

"Good then, yes, yes. Quite good. Maybe we could even take in the theatre or an art show." The young man rose, then graciously bid his company goodbye before rushing out of the front of the restaurant.

The two men sat in silence for a moment as James pondered the day so far. He had held a grudge against Vivianna for leaving the Undertakers those months ago. At the time, he'd seen it as abandoning them, as abandoning _him_.

But truly, a good deal of what had been accomplished was thanks to her. It was her doing that allowed Constance to dwell with the rest of their family. It had been her deduction of the circumstances of Constance's attack that set him on his path from the beginning. She'd even helped him stay focused in the early stages of his desperate plan.

Maybe the poem _was_ a warning. Not only to William but James as well, for the navy man also seemed to dwell within that lightless landscape at the moment. Perhaps, he thought grimly, it had been a warning to herself. She had come immediately when he called upon her to examine Adrienne. Though she had tried to leave behind the dour business he had aligned himself with, Vivianna plunged headlong into it once more for him with little thought for herself.

He began to realize that he owed her much more than he had thought.

"I will say this, regardless of any argument it may cause," Tuddleston interrupted, as if he could read his thoughts, "I still believe Lady Grey has the right to know we have found some lead even if it is a slight one. William seemed to find some peace from the knowledge. I think it may be good for our lady as well."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, what? You actually agree?"

James turned to his large friend and nodded once.

"We will tell her, Mr. Tuddleston. Not at this moment, but we will, you have my word. I owe her that much."

"Ah, then good." The scribe seemed satisfied then a curious look crossed his face. "What, might I ask, will we be doing beforehand though?"

"We need to get some answers from Lucretia Dent. But as Rollo warned, she won't be easy to talk to."

"So we are to pursue that line of inquiry then?"

"Soon. There is someone else I wish to consult with first. I need you to take me to Fhavre Square."

* * *

**A/N****: Though everyone has their own personal ideas regarding how fictional characters should appear, some people have asked before if I have any pics or such of how I personally see the characters in my fics.**

**For anyone who is curious, I have a forum thread on a small writing site on which I am moderator. Within this thread are pics and brief write-ups of some of the characters from Favors to help give me a visual aid while I write. I have added the link address to my profile page if you want a look-see.**


	10. Chapter 9: Watch Station 14

**A/N: This part of the story expanded a bit more than I originally intended, and thus the following chapter was written.**

**Initially, I wasn't quite sure about it, but after some consults with two of my friends who beta'd parts of this, I am now more certain of its inclusion.**

**Thanks, therefore, go to _PikovajaDama_ and _High Lady Caitlyn Hawkmoon_ for listening to my late night rants. I appreciate it very much. :)**

* * *

**Favors**

Chapter 9

**Watch Station 14**

* * *

**_The Twenty-fifth Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837_**

**_Fhavre Square_**

**_The chiming of the 10'o'Clock morning hour_**

…

…

As the final echo of the Clocktower faded, Tuddleston clicked open his pocket watch with a frown. "I seem to be off by nearly twelve seconds," he muttered. "That will never do. Never."

"Mind the road if you please, Mr. Tuddleston," James called over, concern evident in his voice as their motorized carriage hurried along the path.

"Ah, yes, yes," he replied, clamping his watch shut and replacing it within his pocket before looking up. He placed his hand upon the throttle as they started to drift to the side. "My apologies."

The red-haired scribe regained control of the vehicle and expertly steered it along a wide bend.

"I'd like to arrive at the Watch Station alive, if you don't mind," James quipped. He'd almost fallen asleep in a bathtub and might've drowned this morning and now his friend seemed intent on plowing their vehicle into one of the brownstones lining the road. The Outsider surely sought his death in as ignoble a way as possible.

"If you find my habits so unsettling, you could learn to drive the carriage yourself."

"I've tried," the navy man said. "Stalled the blasted engine four times in less than a block, remember?"

"That's because you handle the mechanisms like some thuggish brute pawing at the skirt of a passing girl." He twisted the throttle ever so slightly while simultaneously easing his weight off the floor pedal. "It needs to be moved gently, smoothly, like one is caressing a beautiful woman. You would do well to learn how to behave around both."

The seaman turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sorry, what? The confirmed bachelor is offering me advice on how to treat women?"

"Simply because I have no foreseeable plans to marry should not immediately allude that I am a stranger to a woman's touch. I am not a corpse rotting in some back-alley, you know."

James blinked, thunderstruck at Albert's open remark.

"I-" he began but couldn't honestly find an appropriate response.

"However, we will not gossip like school children dithering about," his friend went on. "It would dishonor the women who showed me their affections, and I have no wish to disrespect them so."

"Women?" James asked, confirming he heard correctly.

"Besides," Tuddleston said in a tone indicating the matter was closed, "we have arrived at our destination."

…

…

The sign read simply: _City Watch Station 14. Fhavre Square._

Near the Wrenhaven, upon a solid slab of exposed bedrock sat a squat building of metal and stone. The front was black brick, with a solid dim-colored iron door set in the middle. Two manned towers were placed nearby, each housing a pair of City Watchmen and a large spotlight. Nearby, the base and steel supports of one of the new mechanized Watchtowers were being set into the ground. It seemed that soon the watch station would have automated defenses as well.

A smaller wooden building was nearby, holding the wagons, carriages, and horses used by the men here. It faced the road, a lone path connecting the station to the rest of the city.

Tuddleston eased the motorized carriage next to the watch station and they disembarked. Two short metal steps led up to the unwelcoming entryway next to which stood a lone guardsman. The solid, severe-looking brute watched the pair approach with his beady eyes peeking just below the rim of his helmet.

"Can I help you?" he inquired in a quiet, disinterested tone.

James was about to speak when the warning signal of a loudspeaker set in the wall just above them pealed just above them.

"Aw, dammit," the guard muttered against the loud noise.

A message blared loudly:

_"Attention Dunwall citizens. The Lady Emily Kaldwin was abducted over three months past at the moment of her mother's terrible murder. Anyone with information leading to the location or return of the daughter of our beloved, late Empress is required to speak to the City Watch at once."_

Another peal sounded the end of the message.

"Every few minutes," the guardsman groused, his face scrunched against the receding loud sound. He looked back over at the two men as his expression relaxed. "Sorry, why are you here?"

"Roger Landon is posted here," the dark-haired man quickly answered before another announcement was blasted over the speaker. "I would like to speak with him, if at all possible."

"Your names?"

"James Dartley and Albert Tuddleston. We know him, and have information that might assist an older case of his."

The guardsman eyed them over before rapping once upon the metal door.

A grate-covered peephole fixed within the door slid open.

"Yarp?" came a muffled query.

"Two to see Captain Landon. On official business apparently."

A face pressed up to the grate before the peephole slid shut and the door was opened.

"Welcome to Watch Station 14," the brutish guardsman said as the pair passed through.

…

…

"I had thought all watch stations to be industrial prefabricated affairs," Tuddleston commented as they followed an aging watchman down a long corridor. His passing gaze noted the older, repainted stonework that made up the base of the facility, as well as several of the inner walls. "But this does not appear to be the case here."

"Ol' Gudderson's," their large escort called back over his shoulder. Despite his advanced years, the guard was still a solid man. "Built 1773 it was. Only stone, brick, and mortar back den. Before da Insurrection. Before da Watch were formed. Before da Kaldwins even come ta power. Yarp."

"Gudderson?" the scribe inquired.

"Frank Gudderson," James explained. "Before the City Watch was formed in 1809, the districts were watched over by Wardens. Like a military sheriff. Frank Gudderson was posted here." He looked around the interior of the corridor. "He oversaw a lot of the plans for the construction of this place. Limestone walls, expert engineers, reinforced prison cells. Not as impenetrable as Coldridge Prison, but formidable nonetheless. He was known to be a hard man in his pursuit for justice, but not an unfair one, I am told."

"Yarp," the large watchman replied. "Good ta know ya younglins got some r'spect for da history about ya. Now, here ya be."

They arrived at a steel door at the far end. The placard on the side read: _Office of Watch Captain Roger Landon_. The guard rapped upon it loudly.

"Yes?" a voice called from within.

"Hate ta bother ya, Cap'n. Got two gent'elmen ta see ya. 'Bout some older case or sumpin'? Dartley and Tuddleston are they names."

"Ah, indeed!" came the muffled reply, then a moment later the door was opening. "Gentleman, please come in. Thank you, Sergeant Maece." The watchman nodded once then turned back down the corridor as James and Albert entered the room.

The office was arranged in an orderly fashion; cabinets lined the west wall with the current bounties for wanted criminals tacked above them. A large poster map of the city proper dominated the back wall and several pins of various colors were pushed upon it. In front of it sat a large wooden desk of practical design with three empty chairs facing it for visitors. Landon closed the door then moved behind the desk with a familiar smile.

"Well met, sirs. Please have a seat."

The pair nodded then settled in. Landon hadn't changed much since James had first met him nearly a year-and-a-half ago. The sideburns were shaved down, the curly hair was cut shorter, and double gold bars adorned his wrists now, revealing his new rank, but his appearance was overall the same. The fiery drive was still there, as were the certain movements and respectful mannerisms.

"I heard you were made Watch Captain recently," James said with a nod. "Moving up quickly."

"Indeed," Tuddleston added. "Congratulations are in order."

The watch captain's smile lessened somewhat.

"Yes, well thank you," he replied. "May I offer you some brandy? Whiskey perhaps?"

"None for us," James said with a wave of his hand. "It's a bit early."

"Let's not be too hasty," Tuddleston interjected quickly. "Maybe just a pinch of the old pale if you would."

James shot him a withering look as Landon nodded then opened the top drawer of the left-most cabinet. The watch captain retrieved a short bottle of brandy and a snifter covered with a small cloth to keep dust from settling in it.

Tuddleston's eyes widened at the label and he leaned forward.

"_Moslon's Gold_?" he smiled in appreciation. "My good sir, your quality has gone up even more in my eyes."

Landon grinned as he poured the amber liquid into the glass. Tuddleston licked his lips as the brandy sloshed gently along the sides of the glass and then reached out an eager hand as it was offered to him. The scribe inhaled the fumes lightly and held the snifter in his hand, allowing his own body heat to warm the contents.

Finally, Landon took his seat behind the desk.

"Now then, my friends, how is it I may assist you?" He looked at James in particular. "I am sorry to say that I still have no new information in your cousin's murder. Let me assure you, I keep the case open and devote the assets I can to it, but this damned Rat Plague has taken its toll on both men and resources."

James nodded.

"It's fine. You've always been true to your word. Pushed harder and further than anyone else would have. For that, I cannot thank you enough."

The watch captain looked a bit embarrassed at the praise. "You award me more admiration than I have earned, I fear."

"Nonsense," the navy man retorted. "But this time it's we who may have a clue. A lead."

"Oh?" He seemed surprised but recovered quickly. He retrieved a stub of a pencil and a crisp sheet of paper from a side drawer and then leaned forward. "Tell me."

"A name associated with the mark. The blue rose on the silver field. It's apparently a business. _The Azure Bloom Outfitters_."

Landon wrote the information down.

"I will see what I can find out. It will take some time, but I believe this may be the best lead we have had in a while."

"Yes," James said simply. "As you seek out the information your way, I'm going to check sources of my own."

The watch officer looked up. "Oh? And what are they?"

The visitors exchanged a quick glance with each other.

"Come now, gentlemen," Landon said smoothly as he leaned back in his chair again. "Do give me _some_ credit. I'm not completely ignorant of your other activities as, how are you called? The Undertakers, correct?"

"My, my," Tuddleston remarked under his breath before taking a sip of the brandy. With a pensive look he continued. "Will there be any… _legal ramifications_ from your knowledge of the activities of our little band?"

"Why should there be?" Landon returned. "As I stated, the Rat Plague has ravaged the city. Watchmen are hard to come by. I've heard rumors that the Lord Regent has even begun to turn out some of the lesser dregs from Coldridge Prison itself to fill the ranks of the Lower Watch in exchange for food and elixir rations. These are indeed hard times. At least someone is making an effort to aid folk that we cannot."

James visibly relaxed at his words. He liked Landon; the watch officer was a rarity in the city, and he was glad he didn't have to deceive him. "Vivianna was always impressed by your intellect."

"High praise then if it comes from Lady Grey. I've learned much by studying her methods. How fares our lady?"

James hesitated. "She is well," he said a moment later, settling back in his own chair. "As for the symbol, it was seen by someone we aided. It has ties with a smuggler we think, perhaps associated with Lucretia Dent. We plan on questioning her to gain the information."

"Lucretia Dent?" The watch officer shook his head. "Beware with that one. Even south of the Wrenhaven we are aware of her dealings."

"That dangerous, eh?" Tuddleston asked with a frown.

"Mm, complex, I would say," Landon admitted. "Among the underworld, she is known as the Harlot Queen of North Side. A title she has earned and maintained quite ruthlessly. Lady Echkart's brothel, her closest competition, is a pale second to hers, and Madame Dent seeks to keep it that way. She has set a deep web of intrigue and trades in information and favors." He turned to James. "Something you two seem to have in common."

A humorless smirk twisted the navy man's lips. "Sounds like a woman to be wary of. Any advice, then?"

The watch officer pondered for a moment. Finally he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

"Most of what is known about her is hearsay. Vague rumors and whispers. From what I have gathered, she is no friend to the Hatters, and seems to have some rivalry with a criminal known as Stavros." He shrugged. "I have also heard she was involved with the theatre at one time, though I am unsure in what capacity."

"Rumors always abound of young understudies seeking fame," Tuddleston interjected. "When they fail to find success as an actress, they turn to other, less fortunate, pursuits."

"Maybe," Landon replied, "but I'm not sure that was the case here. I do know she was engaged to a nobleman at one time. Lord Pinsten I think."

"Pinsten?" the scribe asked with a whistle. "He's on the Approvals Board of the Trade Commission. He's moved rather high up now that Rudshore has flooded."

"You know him, then?"

"I know _of_ him," Tuddleston admitted. "Philanderer and womanizer would be generous understatements. He became particularly gauche after his position was elevated following the tragic loss of Lord Estermont."

A quick knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me, sirs," Landon apologized, then in a louder voice he called, "Come in, please."

The door opened and a young officer entered.

"Ah, Pryce, excellent," Landon said as he stood. "You have news for me then?"

The officer, whom the two visitors realized was a woman, nodded quickly. She was five-and-a-half feet tall and thin, but not unduly so. She had light hazel eyes, a bright, pretty, somewhat roundish face, and chestnut hair cut in a short yet sensible bob. Subdued freckles and the tint of her hair hinted at some Morlish ancestry.

The young woman handed him a folded piece of paper.

"The reply has just arrived, sir," she said.

"Very good. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my second, First Lieutenant Bronwyn Pryce."

The two visitors rose and offered their greetings which she returned politely. She then focused her attention on Captain Landon, and stood with her hands clasped behind her back, awaiting his orders.

"Any honor you may bestow upon me," Landon continued as he opened the note, "should be shared with Lieutenant Pryce. She has assisted me greatly in many of the cases I have explored. She's earned her rank and I admit I may be lost without her aid."

The girl said nothing, but her chin inclined ever so slightly and the corner of her mouth bent just a bit into a smile at the praise of her commanding officer.

"More warnings?" the captain said after reading the message, his voice rising. "Still no curfews, no extra patrols? This is ridiculous." He rubbed his forehead. "I think I'll join you in that morning repast of brandy, Mr. Tuddleston."

"What is this?" James asked as the watch officer poured himself a small quantity of the alcohol. "Some new problem has arisen?"

"A continued one, I fear. You have, no doubt, heard of the recent spate of killings taking place in this and adjoining districts. By this man… this-this murderer called the Beast of Whitecliff?"

"Indeed," Tuddleston said with a slow nod. "Announcements of his activities have been going on for some time now. News of his dreadful business circles the local gazettes and journals."

"Yes," Landon replied with a heavy sigh of exasperation, looking for all the world a beaten man, something James did not think possible. "Five murders now. The newest just this morning. A poor woman was found on a rooftop by a chimney sweep."

"Killed like the others?"

"Yes. Posed as if a doll. Though their clothing still bears the horrible evidence of his crimes, he cleans the blood off their skin and hides the wounds."

"Hides them?" James asked.

"Yes, with sculptor's clay of all things."

"Captain?" the young lieutenant queried, looking at her commander's guests with doubt.

Landon realized her apprehension at revealing such facts but he shook his head.

"Don't worry, Pryce," he said then glanced at the two men. "They can be trusted. More so than others I would wager, present company excluded of course."

She nodded then. "As you say, sir."

"Sculptor's clay?" Tuddleston asked, making sure he heard correctly.

"Indeed. Fills the wounds in expertly. He even does a respectable job of coloring the clay to match the pallor of their corpses. In all other respects, a true artist, but the looks of terror upon the faces of these poor girls are not so easily hidden."

He took a swallow of the brandy and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing.

"Unfortunately, the victims are all low born and some of ill-repute. Ladies of the evening, though the second was a typist attacked on her way home from work, and the third a domestic servant assaulted the same. Had they been noble born, or people of higher standing, then surely stronger measures would have been enforced."

"Do you need help then?" James offered.

"I have some leads I'm looking into at the moment," Landon admitted then looked over to the young lieutenant. "And I'm awaiting a reply from Whitecliff."

"Nothing yet, sir," she returned.

"Ah," he said in a low tone, then focused on the city-map behind him. He was quiet for a few seconds, then turned back to his guests. "But no, you gentlemen have mysteries of your own to solve. I will look into the matter you have brought to my attention, while you delve into your own investigations."

"Very well," James said as he offered his hand. "Good luck to you then. May we all succeed in our endeavors."

Landon gripped his hand firmly. "May we all succeed," he echoed back.

* * *

**_The Tailors' District, southeastern corner_**

**_Half past noon_**

...

...

"Our poor captain burdens himself with situations beyond his control," Tuddleston said as he piloted the motorized carriage into a large stablehouse.

"Yes," James replied as he exited and paid the stableman three coins. "Should he need us, though, he has but to ask. The man's done more than I can ever repay."

The stableman grabbed the bill of his hat and nodded with thanks as the pair continued on their way along the street and then turned down a back-alley.

"Indeed," his companion agreed. "Such attention to duty and willingness to be of assistance are sadly the exception in the Watch these days, rather than the rule."

As the two men moved past a dumpster and around some broken workshelves, a lone shadow broke free from an overhang above them. Neither of the two men noticed as the figure crept quickly but quietly, following them along a wide gutter pipe that lined the edge of the building's rooftop.

"That is a sad truth."

"Is it me," the large scribe asked, "Or is the city becoming progressively worse? Women attacked, an Empress slain, the Rat Plague unchecked, and vile creatures lurking about the dark shadows of the streets?"

As he said this, they passed below an iron fire escape attached to one of the buildings. The figure clambered over the edge of the roof and onto the metal stairway. With practiced precision, he descended quickly, making very little noise until he was a mere eight feet above them.

"It's a grave time when a man sees the world that way, Mr. Tuddleston," James admitted. "I, too, had hope at one time. Thought I could make a difference. But lately it seems that nothing will ever be good enough. That light, despite the teachings of the Abbey, does not dispel the darkness as it should."

The figure gripped the metal railing before him, then vaulted over it and hurled himself down at the pair.

"I say, when you describe it like that- James, Look out!"

James wheeled around and, to his credit, was able to draw his blade and parry the first swing of his attacker. A streak of silver flashed and steel rang against steel. The shadowed figure withdrew upon itself then the silver streak flashed again. James' blade was caught low, near the pommel of the sword, and with an expert twist his attacker dislodged the weapon from his grasp.

The navy man's sword clattered against the cobblestones some feet away and the enemy's blade was leveled at his throat. James and Tuddleston carefully backed away from the figure, out from the obscuring shadows of the alley and into the sunlight. The blade followed, reflecting brilliant rays of the sun upon its silver surface, and finally the tall figure came after, his amber eyes narrowing in the bright light.

It was the Tyvian.

"Outsider's Teeth!" Tuddleston groused upon recognizing him. "That was quite a start, I daresay!"

The tall foreigner ignored him, keeping his eyes and sword leveled at James. After a moment, his offhand shot forward, holding a small parchment within.

James looked at the note. It was the missive he sent to the Tyvian only yesterday. He was surprised at how quickly the man responded.

"Yes, that is my message."

The Tyvian shoved it forward again, his index finger tapping the line about the flower's discovery.

James squinted to see what he was indicating then nodded.

"Yes, it may have been found."

Obdurately, he shoved the note towards him again, his eyes glowering with a sort of madness.

"It'll do us little good with you holding us at swordpoint in an alley," James grumbled at him. "We're on our way to Ma Nettles' place to discuss the situation. Put the weapon away and come with us, otherwise we'll just be standing here getting nothing accomplished."

The Tyvian blinked then took a half-step back. His eyes shifted as if he were pondering the situation or perhaps listening to some voice that they couldn't quite hear. Finally he nodded once, sheathed his silver blade, looked back at the men, and gave a crooked smirk. With a half-bow that seemed more mocking than sincere, the Tyvian waited until James retrieved his sword, then took up a position behind the pair.

* * *

They arrived at the hostel, Ma Nettle greeting them in her usual gruff fashion as they entered.

"I gathered the lot in the dining hall," the proprietress announced finally. "Best ta keep them corralled together I figured."

James smirked. "They're not cattle, Ms. Nettles."

"Tell that ta the brat, she eats like one," she replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Anyhow, I got more biscuits on the way. Some light ale if ya want. No fresh milk I'm afraid. These lasses gobble it down quick."

"That'll be fine, thank you."

They moved to the dining hall where the others had gathered. Etiennette and Adrienne were in the middle of a hushed conversation in a far corner. Otto was watching as Rollo carved a piece of wood with one of his knives. Ademar sat alone inspecting his sword edge with a clinical eye while Mr. Jasper was near the fireplace with a stack of plates and some pints in front of him. Erin was seated near the front with a large pad of paper she had spread out on a long table. She was furiously etching something with bits of charcoal.

"Inventing something new?" James asked the urchin as he approached.

"Oh, 'ello there, boss," she said, looking up, charcoal stains evident on her cheeks. "Nae, jus' a bit o' drawin'." The urchin was surprisingly skilled at ropes and pulley systems, having learned a good deal from her father, and had designed the bucket system on the side of the hostel to help Ma gather water easier. "Nae chance ta be tinkerin'. Ma dinna 'preciate it when I mess wit' 'er fings."

"Best ta remember that," Ma grumbled as she entered, managing to balance three trays of biscuits at once. She set them down and then called out. "Get'em while they're hot!"

Erin slammed her pad shut with a wide grin and moved first.

"All save you, ya brat. Ya need ta wash off your filth."

"Oh, but Ma…" the tiny girl started but she was cut off.

"_'But Ma' _me, nothing. No food until you clean up."

Erin muttered something under breath.

"What was that?" the older woman asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Said, _'yes ma'am'_, I did," Erin moaned, hanging her head low as she sullenly left the room to clean up.

"Bulls' teats ya did." Ma signaled to Mr. Jasper to bring the plates and started divvying up the food. "Ale'll be 'round in a moment."

Tuddleston took a nearby seat but James stood at the forefront and waited for the others to get their fare.

Ma placed some biscuits on a plate and moved to the dark corner where the Tyvian had sequestered himself, as far from the others as possible. He looked at her and shook his head 'no'.

"I don't care how mysterious ya want ta be. You're still human, and a human has ta eat. So eat." She set the plate down, turned, and left.

The Tyvian watched her with narrowed eyes for a moment, then looked down at the plate. With a shrug, he silently ate the offered food.

Once they had settled down, and Erin returned, grabbed her food, and sat with Etiennette and Adrienne, James addressed the assembly.

"My friends, all your patience, all of your hard work has finally been rewarded. A glimmer of hope has been found. But there is still much to do, and we must be careful how we do it."

He looked over where the girls sat.

"Etiennette and Erin, I need you to check the word on the streets. I want any and all information about a criminal named Stavros. Lucretia Dent may have a rivalry with him. Otto, I'll need you to do the same with your contacts."

They all nodded.

"Rollo, I'll need what you know of Lucretia Dent's strength, and the forces at her command. I also need anything you know about Lady Echkart."

"You'll have it, bucko."

James nodded then turned to the proprietress. "They'll be busy with what I need, so consider their own payments suspended. I'll take care of their expenses for the next two weeks at least."

"For all of them?" She glanced at the girl, Adrienne.

James nodded.

"As ya say, then," was Ma's reply.

He looked behind him where the Tyvian sat watching the proceedings.

"I'll need to be ready to strike, at a moment's notice perhaps. Will you be available?"

The Tyvian merely nodded.

"And us?" Tuddleston inquired. "Are we to have an interview with Lucretia Dent then?"

"We won't see her just yet, my friend," James said with a humorless smirk. "But we are going to a brothel."


	11. Chapter 10: Dealing with Lucretia Dent 1

**A/N: A good New Year to everyone! Hope it finds you all well. A lot has been happening, but I am back with the next bit of the tale.**

**Now you may be asking, "Where have you been all this time, MDGeistMD02?"**

**Apparently, I was off writing this bloody huge chapter, ugh...**

**Thank you all for your patience, and here is the next part:**

* * *

**Favors**

Chapter 10

**Dealing with Lucretia Dent**

Part 1

A Level of Refinement

* * *

**_The Twenty-seventh Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837_**

**_Journeymen Row, in the Old Waterfront District_**

**_Half past Nine in the morning_**

…

…

_Lace and tassels. _

That was the first thought James had as Tuddleston and he entered _The Fluttering Heart_, a pleasure establishment located in Journeymen Row, a well-known neighborhood in the northern district known as the Old Waterfront. The white and black three-story building was located close to the Olkhein Docks ensuring travelers from the Wrenhaven River could find the brothel with little difficulty.

Once past the ivory-painted double doors, soft, trilling music from an audiograph player and faint incense of a peculiar odor confronted the visitors' senses. The walls were lined by cream-colored wallpaper accented with gold paisley designs swirling in some odd pattern. Black iron stoves of ornately garish construction heated the main foyer where a few half-dressed women were lounging lazily about on gold felt couches, or unusually shaped armchairs. The numerous end tables held shaded lamps, lit candelabras, or statuary of dubious structure and the large floor-to-ceiling windows were obscured with heavy golden curtains.

Despite this lavish presentation, the items were further enhanced by some questionable addition of lace, fringe, or a string of tassels that dangled from nearly everything. The arm coverings for the divans had tassels of a matching gold, and their entire bottom edges were lined with fringe hanging to the floor. Lampshades had the same odd enhancements, as did the robes worn by some of the women. The drapes were even worse with both lace around the edges and numerous braids woven together for the tie backs. It seemed the goal was to include some form of trimming to everything, to add a show of class, _a level of refinement_.

However, these unnecessary embellishments only made the place seem cheap and gaudy, at least to James. Luckily, Tuddleston had been elected to take the lead on this jaunt and as usual his gregarious nature shone through.

"A good morning to you, dear sirs," a sing-song voice called from behind a small desk, which was also painted gold. "What specialties are we interested in today?"

The speaker was an attractive woman who appeared in her early thirties, with a full figure that nicely filled out an elegant turquoise-colored dress of expensive make. Her long, brown hair was pulled up and woven into some fashionable design atop her head and held in place by an ornate gold and black comb. Her smile seemed sincere and her already pretty features were elegantly accented with a pale pink lip balm and light rouge.

"Ah my dear lady," the large redheaded man replied, "currently I seek an interview with Lady Echkart, if you please."

The woman stood, a broad smile upon her lips.

"I am Lady Belinda Echkart," she announced. "How may I…" she paused and then her arm swept the room, "how may _we_ be of service?"

"Lady Echkart, very good," Tuddleston replied then he removed his hat and stepped forward. He spoke quieter. "I wish to, eh, interview you, for an extended arrangement if all goes well."

"We offer all kinds of services here. Anything you may fancy."

"Splendid," Tuddleston's voice dropped even lower. "I will get right to the marrow of the bone then: I have a ship in my employ of decent size. My captain's a good man." With this last statement he glanced back at James before looking upon the madam once more. "The crew, however, is a somewhat rowdy bunch and, ehm, in need of a bit of tension release shall we say. They've been at sea for a long while now. I am looking to make accommodations for their shore leave, of an extended nature if things could be arranged."

The woman's face lit up with understanding.

"A party is it, then?" She nodded enthusiastically. "Let's retire to my office where we can discuss such details in a more private setting." She looked over at a short, pretty girl with short dark hair standing by one of the iron stoves. "Patti, bring up some additional teaware and treats for my guests. Quick now!"

The girl nodded and promptly made off for a side door.

Lady Echkart led her two guests through a back entrance and into a short hallway that split off into a stairway to the left and a large wooden door at the far end. It was through the latter that their host beckoned them.

"This way, gentlemen."

She unlocked the door and made to open it when Tuddleston stepped forward.

"Allow me," he said, reaching out and turned the doorknob.

"A gentleman you are." She smiled and then stepped inside. "Please sit." She indicated a pair of well-made comfortable chairs near a large fireplace, which her visitors quickly took.

The office, which seemed to also be the madam's personal room, was excessively adorned like the foyer beforehand. A large bed with a luxurious, cream-colored, ruffled duvet covering it dominated the southern wall, almost ridiculously so, while a huge, severe-looking dark oak armoire stood along the eastern wall nearby, its contents securely locked away. The wallpaper here was a robin egg blue and the room was embellished with gold highlights.

Perhaps it was the fact his expertise focused primarily on martial skills and tactics that James found himself baffled as to what sort of sense the design scheme was trying to evoke. His thoughts on the matter were pushed aside as their hostess stirred the ebbing coals in the fireplace. She replaced the poker, and then wheeled a large, wide serving cart in front of them.

Upon the cart was an odd octagonal bronze container, the base of which rested upon four bowed metal legs. There appeared to be a vent at the top, and in the front was a faucet, with a key in it. Their hostess opened a back panel just below a pair of handles on the odd device, grabbed one of the larger coals from the fireplace with a set of small tongs and placed it within the cavity.

"Don't worry, my gentlemen," she said in her lilting voice. "I replaced both the leaves and the water only this morning as I like a good pot to be ready just about any time of the day."

James blinked at the unknown thing that was apparently a kettle brewer of some type, but Tuddleston spoke before he could utter any inquiries.

"Ah, a Tyvian samovar!" he exclaimed in a happy tone. "Quite nice, quite nice indeed." He looked at the contraption. "Though I don't think I know this particular model."

"A connoisseur are we then, Mister…?" she left the question open.

"Tuddles," Tuddleston replied, using the shortened version of his name that Erin always called him. "Albert Tuddles."

Before coming to Lady Echkart's place of business, the pair had decided to not offer their full names, but rather easily-remembered aliases. If caught in a lie later on, they could either suggest that their host must have heard wrong, or that they were hiding their identities slightly before committing to anything, as merchants and the aristocracy often did when visiting a brothel.

The madam looked next at the navy man.

"James, milady," he replied to her unspoken question. "Just James will do."

"Very well," she returned, then focused on Albert again with a broad smile. "But yes, the design is _kabachok_ I believe is how it is pronounced, though I don't really speak a word of Old Tyvian." She giggled before continuing on. "And it _is_ a new design, just offered late last year! A little treat I gave myself."

At that moment, a figure appeared at the doorway: the small girl from the foyer earlier and she was carrying a large silver tray.

"Here Patti," the madam called. "Bring it in. Don't let our guests sit waiting."

The courtesan nodded and made her way to the cart, trying to keep the tray even. Lady Echkart's eyes widened with pleasure at the items sitting upon it.

"Well done," she said, grabbing a smaller platter upon which sat some rolled doughy confections dusted with a loose powdery substance. "Butterballs, my gentlemen. Or Tyvian tea cakes if you prefer. Rich and delicious, with some chopped pecans mixed in and a sprinkling of confectioner's sugar. Please have some."

Tuddleston snatched one of the tea cakes with a pleased smile followed by James.

Balancing the tray with one hand, the girl grabbed a small bowl of sugar and transferred it down to the cart. She then placed two of the sets of teacups and saucers next to it. Removing them unbalanced the tray, however, and the third set pitched forward. The girl was barely able to catch it before it tumbled off the tray down to the hard, wooden floor below.

"Useless speck!" Lady Echkart growled at the girl's clumsy efforts. The madam's pretty features twisted into an ugly mask of contempt as she snatched the last cup and saucer from the girl's grasp. She held the items up in front of the courtesan's face. "This tea set is _Chasimiro_. Imported directly from the city of Bastillian in Serkonos. Your entire life will never be worth its value."

The girl blanched and hugged the now-empty tray protectively in front of her.

"And worse," the angry madam continued with a step forward, "you forgot. The Bloody. Cream!"

"P-please, forgive… f-forgive me," the girl whispered with trembling lips. She pulled back, eyes wide with dread.

Something rankled in James at the woman's outburst. His shoulders tensed, his lip twitched, and his free hand balled into a fist. He was about to lean forward when Tuddleston spoke.

"Hm, the sharp bitter contrast of the tea will offset the sweetness of the cakes," the large man interjected as he took a bite of the confection. He enjoyed the taste for a moment, then continued on. "A bit of sugar to the brew perhaps, to weaken its bite, but I think the cream would have been too much. A fortuitous oversight, my dear lady." He turned to their hostess and winked. "And with your obvious knowledge of Tyvian delicacies, I wonder if this whole 'forgotten cream' display may not just be something you planned. A charade, perhaps? To keep us from adding something so clearly unwarranted. I must thank you, my dear lady, for saving us from making such a social blunder in front of so charming a hostess."

Lady Echkart turned to Tuddleston, her contemptuous scowl waning. She blinked, gauging what the large man had said, and then a quick, demure smile lit her face.

"Difficult to get anything past an observant gentleman like you, eh my kind sir? Yes, the cream is not necessary. No need to retrieve it now." She turned back to the girl and her eyes narrowed. "But I'll deal with your clumsiness later, after these good men have departed."

The girl gasped in dismay but nodded nonetheless.

"Hold a moment," James said, unable to remain silent. He glanced towards Tuddleston. "Sir, you mentioned that due to the extra earnings this month, I would be able to have whichever girl I chose, correct? I am drawn to this young woman here." Looking up at the courtesan, he asked, "Patti, is it not?"

Surprised at being addressed, she took a moment to respond but finally said, "Yessir. Patti it is."

He smiled reassuringly to her before leveling a stern gaze towards their hostess.

"I would appreciate her company. I fancy her." He leaned forward and in a strict, deliberate tone said, "_Unmarred_, of course."

The lady shrank back under his glaring eyes, uncertainty edging across her features until Tuddleston spoke again.

"Ah, yes. A good man must be kept happy." He plunked three gold pieces, worth ten each, down upon the cart. After a moment he added two more, for a total of fifty Coin. "To guarantee young Patti's physical condition doesn't worsen anytime soon. I am aware that discipline must be maintained, but Captain James does bring me a nice profit each month. I'm sure you understand."

His quick grin set the madam at ease.

"Of course, of course," she said with a half-hearted chuckle, her own smile returning once more. "The customer is always correct." She turned back to the girl named Patti and waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "Bzzz-bzzz. Off you go then, my little bee. Back to work. Bzzz-bzzz."

Stunned at the turn of events, Patti bowed quickly. She shifted the tray to one hand and grasped James' wrist with the other, a happy grin upon her face. "Thank ye, sir. I promise ta take good care of ye, sir, all proper then."

James nodded and the girl departed.

"That aside, let's get to the matter at hand," Tuddleston said, settling back into his chair.

"Indeed," the lady returned as she filled his cup and handed it over. She repeated the process for James.

"Now then," the scribe continued on, "my merchantman will lay over for six days. In that time my crew of twelve, not including my good captain here, will have a well-deserved shore leave coming to them. A pair or two may be required to watch over my property, of course, but the rest will have adventure in their minds and Coin in their pouches. I would appreciate it if they were corralled, so to speak, lest they wander off and find themselves in trouble with the Watch."

As Tuddleston spoke, the madam nodded ever so slightly and her eyes glistened merrily. She was no doubt calculating just how much of the fictional sailors' Coin she could relieve them of.

James did his best to hide his scowl of disdain, sipping from his tea to help mask it. He was not quite prepared for the bitter taste and choked on the brew. Tuddleston and Lady Echkart both looked over at him.

"Are you alright my dear?" she asked. "Need more sugar?"

Shaking his head, he recovered quickly and used the interruption to turn the subject of the conversation.

"The other matter, sir?" he asked Tuddleston.

"Ah, quite right, quite right," the larger man said with a well-practiced sigh of discontentment. He focused on the lady. "How is security here? Are your girls trustworthy? No worries of blackmail, or loose tongues, I hope?"

The madam blinked in surprise before assuming a reassuring tone.

"My good sirs, this is not the Golden Cat," she said, confidence in her voice. "My girls know how to behave. As for protection, I have a few reliable lads I can call upon not far away. This place is secure enough."

"Then you deserve my honesty," he said. "With no small embarrassment, I must admit to some trouble with a fellow merchant who frequents this area. Stavros by name. He isn't one of your clients, is he? I don't wish my crewmen involved in any sort of disturbance with his men."

At the mention of the name, the lady's smile vanished and she sat up straight. "I have no knowledge of a man by that name."

"That is good," Tuddleston said. "I seem to have slighted him by offering the same merchandise that he does."

The lady's eyes narrowed. "You did not mention you were a smuggler."

James leaned forward. "Nor did we mention that Stavros was either, yet you seemed to come to that conclusion rather quickly."

Lady Echkart paled and took a long sip of her tea before responding.

"I may have heard a rumor or two, but any knowledge I possess is rather limited."

"My dear lady," Tuddleston said in an earnest tone. "I have no plans to cut into his business. I merely offer to trade in spices, and exotic cuisine from Serkonos. The variety of which is not yet approved by certain local authorities here."

The lady tilted her head. "_Just_ spices and food?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion. "How then are you having trouble with him?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, of course I have no dealings with the man myself, but I've heard from rumormongers that he plies slaves to some of the aristocrats for their mines. The Barrymores, the Treachers, the Pendletons, and the like." She reached over to grab a small folding hand fan from a side table and waved it rapidly in front of her face. "Such talk is a bit much for one of my constitution, you must understand."

"Thank you for enduring it," the scribe said, his smile never wavering. "It's just when we heard Madame Dent was a rival of his, we-"

"Rival?" the lady asked with a belligerent tone. "Lucretia Dent? That callous vixen is a partner in all of his nefarious doings."

James and Tuddleston glanced at each other in uncertainty before focusing on her once again.

"Her partner, you say?" James asked, making sure he heard right.

"Yes. She sells her little tarts to him for nothing and he peddles them off to the Void knows where." She gasped dramatically and waved the fan quicker. "How could she do that to those deprived young girls, who only seek solace from a caring lady? Those poor, poor dears. Lucretia Dent is a vixen, a wench most foul I say!"

"Well then we shall steer clear of this man," James assured her. "I suppose he is located in this area, then?"

"Why would I know such a thing?" she asked indignantly.

"Because you are an intelligent woman and obviously care for your girls," Tuddleston said. "You have probably already deduced the location of his property and you would advise your girls to avoid him at all costs. We merely seek to do the same."

Her eyes darted back and forth between her guests as a light gasp escaped her. Finally she spoke, "He has a residence in the Estates District. I-I think he lives on Trobaum Road, near the checkpoints. But I have no business with him, I promise you."

Tuddleston cast a sideways glance at James who gave a quick nod.

"I do like you, my Lady Echkart," the large man said with a smirk as he turned back to her. "You're not afraid to announce your true feelings, and the assurances of your girls' candor are most welcome." He laid down another five gold coins and then he stood, James following suit. "I think this place will do. Once we have settled in, I shall try and contact you again, as soon as possible."

The lady looked worried, but still palmed the coins in front of her. "I apologize for any outbursts I may have made. Please do not hold them against me."

"Indeed not," Tuddleston said with a wink, as James and he made to leave. "I have a firm understanding of the way you do business, and I shall not forget it."

* * *

"That woman was atrocious," Tuddleston groused as James and he entered _Ma Nettles' Hostel_. "I agree it was a good plan to go to Lucretia Dent's main business rival for information, but still she was abominable."

"Oh?" James replied. "I wasn't sure as you only mentioned that four times now. Maybe the fifth time will make it sink in."

"Mock as you like," his friend said as he placed his hat on a shelf in the hostel's foyer. "Perhaps _you_ should lead the interview with the next one. Let's see how far your impertinence gets you with Madame Dent."

"Perhaps I _should_ take the lead next time."

"This will make great sport, I'll wager."

"I can be polite, charming even, when the situation calls for it."

The large man let out a snort. "That aside, is it even necessary to interview Madame Dent? Though smugglers themselves, the Merry Boyz weren't actually the ones who crated up young Adrienne. It seems this Stavros that Captain Landon mentioned is the villain in charge of delivering the girls. Perhaps we should shift our focus to him?"

"If the information is correct, he is definitely one to speak with." James shook his head. "However, I don't know how much I believe the source. I don't have Vivianna's deductive skills, but I consider myself decent at reading people. Lady Echkart seemed to be holding something back."

"An officer's training to be sure," Tuddleston agreed. "A successful one such as you is skilled at reading the terrain. Overt or otherwise. I'll back your instincts then and follow your lead."

James nodded in appreciation just as Ma Nettles rounded the corner.

"Here fer lunch then, you two?" the woman asked in her gruff tone. "Pigs' knuckles an' greens are what we're havin'. Boiled through."

Tuddleston blanched at the mention of the dubious fare, but James just shook his head.

"No time for that, Ms. Nettles," he said. "Is everyone present?"

"Your shadow man's still skulkin' 'bout the dining hall. Been a chore getting' him to eat proper, but I'll see it through, jus' you wait. The brat and Etiennette are upstairs and'll be down shortly. I jus' called'em fer lunch. The others are out in the garden house with Mr. Jasper."

As if on cue Ademar and Rollo entered from the backdoor, Otto and Adrienne in their wake.

"…but it was a good haul anyway," Rollo was saying as they continued forward, a wicked smirk upon his face. "Even after the cut I hadta give the Watchmen."

Ademar shook his head in disgust, obviously not agreeing with whatever questionable deed Rollo was describing. Otto was grinning and nodding at the tale. Adrienne just smiled at the short man as she trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

"Master James," Ademar greeted as he noticed them in the foyer. "How fares your investigation?"

"I'm going to need Rollo and you to get ready, armed but with just traveling clothes. I want you both to accompany us on this next part."

"Off ta see Dent then, are we?" Rollo asked.

"Yes," James returned then looked past him to Adrienne. "But first, I have some questions for you."

"Yes sir?" she replied, surprised at suddenly being addressed.

"Right before you were given to the Merry Boyz, what happened to you? Can you describe the events?"

The girl seemed uncertain and glanced at Rollo.

"S'alright lass," he said quietly. "Nuthin's gonna happen to ya. Ya have my word."

She nodded, a hesitant smile working its way to her face at his reassuring words. She took a deep, steadying breath and then began.

"The night beforehand, I was taken from Madame Dent's brothel and brought to an area by the Wrenhaven I'd not seen before. I was placed in the custody of a man who was waiting there to meet us. I think it may have been the eastern side of the Olkhein Docks, but I am not sure." The smile faded into a frown. "I was frightened by the odd events and not listening to their conversation very well. I'm sorry."

James waved off the apology. "Did you hear the name Stavros at all? I gave the name to Etiennette, Erin, and Otto to investigate but never asked you directly. Do you know of him?"

The girl thought a moment.

"I think - I think that was the name of the man who met us. He was tall, right? With gray hair and a scar under his left eye? I only got brief glimpses of him when we first arrived at the meeting point and a few times after. He held a lantern close to his face to signal us and show the location of the wagon he had waiting for me."

"I don't honestly know what he looks like," he admitted. "So then you were placed in the crate, is this correct?"

"No, sir. The tall man who met us and I traveled alone by horse and wagon a ways along the river. I think we were heading east back to the Estates District, but as there was no moon and the areas we kept to were dark, I can't rightly say. The river was off to our right, so I am merely assuming it was east."

"Back to the Estates District?" Tuddleston asked. "Why would Madame Dent journey all the way to the Old Waterfront District to meet Stavros, if that is who we are to assume the tall man is, only to have her partner travel back to the Estates District? That seems thoroughly unnecessary and illogical."

"It wasn't Madame Dent who took me," the girl corrected him. "It was Marcus."

"Who's Marcus?" James asked.

"He is one of the large men who guards the brothel for Madame Dent."

"One of her more important lieutenants then?"

She shook her head in the negative. "No, sir. He doesn't have much responsibility save watching some of the entryways. Not much else. Kristoff is her headman, quick and dangerous, and in charge of the rest of her guards."

"So Marcus isn't very high up in rank, yet he was the one assigned to bring you to this late night meeting? Alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hm," James rubbed his chin, pondering the information. "And then?"

"After passing through a dark alley and poorly lit lots, the tall man and I finally stopped at a small dock, one of the straight little ones that, um, jut out into the river. On the dock w-was a dim lamp and two other men waiting for us." She paused as her voice started shaking and took another deep breath. "I was told to get off the wagon and to, uh, to climb… climb inside a crate on a small barge just off the dock. I was ordered to keep quiet and th-then sealed in. The pair handed over a pouch that jingled, from some coin I, um, I suppose. And then they t-told the man who brought me to, uh, to make sure her ladyship got her cut for having me snuck out of Lucretia Dent's place."

Rollo noticed her quivering tone and placed a hand upon her shoulder.

"Yer doing fine, lass. Brave as can be." He gave her a nod that brought her smile back.

"And that is exactly what the men said?" the navy man asked. "To make sure her ladyship got her cut for having you snuck out of Lucretia Dent's place?"

She swallowed uncomfortably. "I think so, sir. But I'm not completely certain. I was scared and my heart was pounding. I may have heard wrong."

"No, you did well. Thank you. For everything." James tapped his index finger against his upper lip at this new information.

"Whatcha thinkin' then, bucko?" Rollo asked. "We gonna hold back some of our cards, or lay'em down flat onna table and see who's got Nancy?"

"Hm. It's possible I may have gone about this the wrong way. I think we need to show strength here instead of using guile for the time being. Especially if Lucretia Dent is as dangerous as she is made out to be."

He looked to Ademar, Rollo, and Tuddleston.

"We're taking the Tyvian with us. Be prepared for anything."

* * *

**_The Twenty-seventh Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837_**

**_The Estates District_**

**_A Quarter past One in the afternoon._**

…

…

The address read _27 Rue Manor Lane_.

An impressive three-story mansion occupied the tract. Painted an off-white color, with dark gray shingles lining the roof, and displaying a well-conceived amalgamation of older-style columns and modern design, the edifice stood proudly among its neighbors. The addition of a large wing to either side of the original structure with several small balconies dotting the front added to the grandeur.

The grounds held a half-oval gravel-lined path where a few carriages sat quietly waiting, and a smaller cart lane led off to the side where a stable had been erected. In between the gravel-path and the main road was set a small garden area and a pair of sturdy oaks, offering some privacy from the outside world while still lending an air of quality to the place. Surrounding the entire affair was an eight foot white-stone wall, with an additional three feet of wrought iron fence fixed atop it.

It appeared so unlike other brothels of the city, James had to confirm with Rollo that this was the residence of Lucretia Dent. After being assured it was, he led his four companions to the wide double entry doors where they were greeted by a pair of stout men dressed in grey slacks and tailored white shirts with dark gray jackets to help fend off the cold of the late autumnal season.

"Welcome to Lucretia Dent's abode," the one on the right said as he looked them over, before opening the door. "Register your weaponry at the desk. And enjoy your visit."

The main foyer was painted a cool cerulean blue and the furniture within consisted of well-made yet simply-designed divans of light grey and polished oak. A large mirror dominated the southern wall, and cream colored vases held vibrant orchids with dark greenery to offset them. The few pieces of artwork consisted of a single painting in various shades of grey portraying an unnamed landscape hung on the northern wall just left of a winding staircase and a few statues of smooth tones and shapes spread throughout.

A trio of attractive young women were sitting upon one of the divans and chatting quietly. As the companions entered, the women paused in their conversation to look at them; they smiled politely before resuming their discussion.

In the southeastern corner was a large counter reminiscent of a hotel front desk, complete with small bell and registry book, and two doors, one set in the eastern wall and one along the south.

A young woman sat demurely behind the counter wearing a white button-down shirt like the two men at the entrance. She was about five-foot-four and thin, with dusky skin, and pretty, almost exotic features. Her jet black hair was fixed with a half-knot on the top while the rest hung straight down in interesting and very modern style.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she addressed them as they neared. "I am Clarise. I need to collect your arms, please. After that I will assist you with whatever you require."

James stepped forward then.

"We will be glad to follow the rules of your house." He began unbuckling his sword belt and pistol. "I need to speak with Madame Dent."

The girl cocked her eyebrow.

"Oh? You have no appointment."

James finished removing his gear.

"How do you know? You didn't even check your registry."

"I make all of Madame's appointments," she said with certainty. "She has nothing scheduled for the rest of the day."

"That's fine. I'd like to make an appointment for today please. As soon as she is available."

The girl scoffed. "Madame is very busy at the moment. Perhaps later in the week I could fit you in."

"You just said she had no appointments," he reminded her. "If she has nothing scheduled for today, I'm not sure how busy she could possibly be."

The girl narrowed her eyes at being trapped by her own words. She stared up at him for a moment then quickly dinged the bell three times. "Kristoff!" she exclaimed.

James remembered the name that Adrienne had offered: Kristoff, Lucretia's headman.

A figure appeared from the eastern doorway – a solid and exceptionally well-built young man in his late twenties. He appeared of Gristian heritage, clean-shaven with pale skin, blue eyes, and his hair shorn down to a dark stubble. He wore an electric blue shirt and dark slacks with a sword at his side, and a pistol slid smartly through his belt rather than tucked haphazardly into the top of his pants.

"Yes, Clarise?" he said in a clear baritone voice.

"This person wishes to see Madame."

"Alright then," he said with a nod. He looked at James with a friendly smile. "Greetings, sir."

"Greetings." James replied back.

The girl followed with, "He does _not_ have an appointment."

"Ah." The young man's smile lessened and there was a near imperceptible twitch in the corner of his left eye. "Is there something I can do for you, sir? We offer many distractions. Perhaps something to fill the needs of your fine company?" At this, he shifted to look past James at the others. The smile was still friendly, but his eyes darted quickly about the figures of his companions.

James knew what the young man was doing. While maintaining a friendly demeanor he was gauging the strength of James' fellows and noting visible weapons. From both his speech and his mannerisms, he realized the headman was far from just a simple thug. After a moment, Kristoff fixed his gaze upon James once again.

"So, what will it be, sir?"

"I wish merely to speak with Lucretia Dent."

"Then set an appointment and we'll see how that goes, alright?"

"I'd appreciate it if we could see her now."

The headman gave the slightest tilt of his head, but it was enough to signal his men. To the right a lean man silently descended the stairway halting halfway down, a loaded crossbow ready in his grasp. At the same time, another man, larger and taller than even Ademar arrived from the eastern doorway to take up position next to the front desk, just behind Kristoff. Even Clarise, the short girl at the counter, stood up, her right hand falling to the pommel of a previously unseen dirk strapped to her belt, ready to use it as needed.

Both Rollo and Captain Landon had been correct in their estimation of the strength of Lucretia Dent's security; the headman and his guards were quick, prepared, and professional.

"I'm sorry sir," Kristoff apologized, as damnably polite as ever, "but that's not possible." He took a measured step forward, and eased his left hand across his waist until his index and middle fingers were tapping the grip of the pistol. "Perhaps you'd better leave."

Slight, muffled noises sounded behind James; most likely the startled expressions of the three young women on the divan as they moved out of the way of a possible confrontation. Not even five minutes into the building and they were already caught up in a tense situation. _Of course_, James thought to himself. He sighed; should they survive this encounter he would surely get an earful from Mr. Tuddleston concerning tact and manners.

"What is the meaning of this nonsense?" a clear, feminine voice asked suddenly from the stairway.

Nearly all the occupants of the foyer looked up at the source of the voice save James and Kristoff.

"My apologies, Madame Dent," the young headman said, eyes never wavering from his opposite. "The situation will be under control shortly."

"Who are you to invade my home?" the voice inquired.

James risked a glance near the top of the stairway and blinked in surprise at the figure standing there. The pale-skinned woman had large brown eyes, high cheekbones, a slim face and nose, and full lips. Her crimson-colored hair was pulled back, and fixed in a loose ponytail that hung over her left shoulder. Black plum-tinted lipstick and silver-grey eye-shadow accentuated her features.

Her trim figure was bedecked in an older-style, elegant black dress made of excellent cloth trimmed with different types of lace. The low-cut, off the shoulder bodice laced up the back and the skirt had two sidewings, numerous backfolds and a train. Black lace elbow-length gloves and a black hand fan finished her ensemble. Despite the lack of color in her attire, James found her to be the most fascinating example of artwork in the entire room.

She stared hard at him. "I will repeat my question once only: who are you?"

"James Dartley, my Lady Dent," he said.

The woman looked surprised and angled her head. "Dartley?" She seemed to consider the name for a moment before asking, "What is it you wish here?"

"Just a moment of your time," he replied honestly.

"Very well," she announced to the astonishment of everyone; even Kristoff turned to look up at her, uncertain he had heard correctly. "But I won't have your entire troupe uncouthly tromping about my rooms. Two of your companions will stay here; the others may accompany you within." She looked to her headman. "Kristoff, escort them up." With that, she turned and made her way back up the stairs.

…

…

James, Rollo, and Tuddleston followed Kristoff, who seemed as bewildered as the navy man felt, and two of his men to a large set of rooms on the second floor. The three Undertakers were escorted to a sitting room that seemed to also double as an office.

The walls were painted a deep azure and a small brass fireplace had been built into the southern outer wall next to a large window overlooking the street. A mahogany roll-top desk, currently closed and locked, and a comfortable chair sat along the northern wall next to a heavy door that was also closed. A small corner divan and three chairs, wooden with grey upholstery, were against the far southeast corner around a small table. A tall mahogany and brass grandfather clock ticked away the seconds along the western wall next to a small picture showing the vast Ocean as seen from the top of a white-stone cliff.

The designs of the furniture and art were uncomplicated and subdued, graceful in their own way. He saw more class and elegance in Madame Dent's simple style than any of Lady Echkart's garish attempts. It was already a mark in their hostess's favor and clearly showed _a level of refinement_.

He turned to look at the woman. Her hand fan dangled by a cord about her wrist and she was sorting through a set of keys on a large key-ring. His gaze strayed from her face, across her figure, and then along her bare left arm to an exposed tattoo he hadn't noticed before.

Beginning just below her left shoulder, the tattoo resembled three roses in full bloom. They were all attached to the same single stem which wove itself along her arm past her bicep and nearly down to her elbow. The piece had been left devoid of color. Regardless, the bold contour line work was perfect, and while somewhat stylized, it showed the expertise of the artist. So much so, that James recognized the artwork.

"Mercion McCale," he said before he realized he'd spoken aloud.

The woman turned to look at him, an eyebrow arched.

"What was that?"

"Your inkwork. Mercion McCale's style. I've seen it on some of the men I served with. You've been to Potterstead."

She smirked and resumed her examination of the set of keys. "I've been many places, Mr. James Dartley," she stated matter-of-factly. Locating the key she wanted, she finally turned her full attention to him, a wry smile upon her lips. "As for the tattoo, yes, it was created by the young woman in Potterstead. Nicely done, I would say. Each of my little prickly flowers represents a lover or fiancé who promised me the world, while hiding their thorns with pretty imagery."

She angled her arm to observe them better, remnants of some distant memory playing briefly across her face.

"But they're not finished," James said.

She looked at him again. "Not finished? What do you mean?"

"They've not been colored properly. I've seen the artist's completed works. Her skills are impressive."

Lucretia chuckled to herself. "I purposely kept it as an outline. I wanted the flowers empty," she said with narrowed eyes, "like the promises of _men_. They are my constant reminder not to fall into the same trap."

"Not all men go back on their word, Lady Dent."

She scoffed. "I ask that you do not use that title with me, Mr. Dartley; I abhor it. Madame Dent will do."

"Very well."

"And should I meet the man who purports to be a gentleman, keeps his word, and shows me respect, only then shall I consider coloring in my bristly beauties. Until that unlikely day, they shall remain bare." She winked at him then turned and moved to the roll-top desk only to pause and look coyly over her shoulder. "But I think we have business now. That is why you're here, no? To offer me a… _favor_?"

Tuddleston shift uncomfortably as James merely tilted his head at the woman's revelation.

Lucretia unlocked the desk and slid back the roll-top. "To hurry things along we can get the preliminary inquiries out of the way."

She opened one of the little square drawers at the top of the desk and retrieved a tiny item from within. She closed the drawer, slid the roll-top back into place and locked the desk once more before facing her guests.

"I've noticed no symbol upon a silver field before. The only roses I have seen recently are the three empty ones upon my arm." She indicated her tattoo with a glance. "I've not heard the name… Styverson, was it? Nor do I know any dread Overseers with masks of black and red. I think that about covers all the questions you would ask of me, no?"

"How…?" Tuddleston began.

Lucretia placed her hands on her hips and laughed, before angling her head forward and looking up at them through her eyelashes. "How does any woman know anything? We have our ways. Call it as you will: witchcraft, intuition, foresight, prescience. It can often be folly to underestimate us."

"Indeed," James said, genuinely fascinated by the woman in black. "And what else do you know?"

"You are James Dartley, late of the Imperial Navy. You were a commissioned officer aboard… what was the name? The _Guardian_? An apropos title considering the type of tasks you perform, no?" She shifted her gaze to look at the scribe. "And you are Albert Tuddleston, the jolly proprietor of the small establishment at Kelling's Close in the South Commons. You call your little band the Undertakers." Finally her eyes settled upon Rollo. "Your little friend is unknown to me; nevertheless, it won't take long to correct that oversight."

James tried to hold back a smile. Both her information and recollection of it were remarkable; however, it wasn't completely accurate. He had abandoned the shop at Kelling's Close four months ago.

"Impressive, Madame Dent," he said, trying to maintain a courteous air. "I was told that your primary trade is information and favors, and you do have a knack for it. Almost everything you said is correct. However, you won't find us at Kelling's Close anymore. For nearly a season now at least."

She was silent a moment and then a dark grin appeared as her trick was exposed. "Very well. I admit I am acting on older information." She opened her hand to reveal a small piece of red paper upon which was stamped a triangle within a larger inverted triangle which she then offered to him. "From a girl who came seeking employment a few months back by the name of Amber Green."

He remembered the small girl hoping to expose the men who had stolen her deceased brother's property. The endeavor ended with the villains in jail, though with the property gone the girl had no place to go. James had given her what money he could get from the criminals' activities as well as a little extra from his own coffers, but the girl said she already had "plans in motion".

"She likes to talk about a great many things," Lucretia continued on, "and was grateful for the aid you and your companions gave her. You may have this back now that I can put a face to your name."

As he took the paper, her gloved fingers brushed smoothly across his wrist then trailed along the length of his palm before she withdrew with a reserved smile. The action, though enticing, allowed a closer look of the madam's hand fan; the support sticks, normally crafted of wood, had been replaced with thin sharpened steel spikes.

A well-hidden, cunning, and deadly weapon was concealed beneath softness, beauty, and lace. James wondered just how much of the fan's nature was mimicked by its owner. His pondering, though, was interrupted by one of the brothel's courtesans.

A tall, thin girl with a mop of blonde hair came to the partially opened door and knocked sharply. The madam saw the girl and nodded for Kristoff to admit her. The courtesan looked harried, but stopped up short when she noticed James and his fellows. She cast an inquiring glance at Lucretia.

"I ask that you pardon me a moment, but a matter has come up that needs my attention," Lucretia said as she moved to the heavy door set in the northern wall and unlocked it. She opened it wide and ushered both Kristoff and the unknown courtesan through. Beyond was a bedroom, the edges of a large bed with a brass-colored coverlet barely visible as well as what appeared to be a well-crafted vanity.

"It's fine," James said with a nod towards his men. "I would like to confer will my people while you confer with yours."

She nodded in reply as she followed her people inside.

James turned his back to the bedroom door, which was thankfully left ajar, as Rollo and Tuddleston approached. Tuddelston stood about a foot away from James, as the short criminal moved in front of them then inched slightly to the side to peer between the two taller men. With a grin he looked into the room where Lucretia and her people were in a hushed discussion.

"Well?" James asked.

"Dent's asking the new bint _'how is she?'_," Rollo replied, squinting to see the lips of his targets. He mouthed some words then continued. "The bint's sayin' somethin' like _'Victoria's okay, but the cut on her leg with need some time ta mend. Probably leave a scar, too.'_"

"Who's Victoria?"

"'Nother bint from the sound of it," Rollo replied with a shrug. "Dent seems none too pleased and is now talkin' to her headman. _'This can't be allowed to stand. He needs ta learn his place'_ or somethin' like that."

"What's Kristoff's reply?"

"I can't tell. Big man's back is to me, but his back is tense and he is sayin' somethin'. Now Dent's sayin' _'I don't care how rich Lord Treacher thinks he is, he will not harm any who reside under this roof. If there's an issue we'll call in the mark from Dandrege. Tell him his account's been settled'_."

"Lord Treacher?" Tuddleston asked. "Jakob Treacher?"

"Might be," Rollo said with another shrug. "They're not exactly clarifying things fer me, now are they?"

"It's fine," James said before looking at Tuddleston. "I know of a magistrate named Dandrege. Maybe he owes her a favor."

"Having those sorts in her debt and being able to call upon them however she needs does indeed make her quite dangerous," the scribe said, concern playing across his features.

"What're they saying now?" James asked, his attention back on Rollo.

"Dent's suggesting the choice for Treacher being either a 'rat pit' whatever the Void that is, or a trip to the Flooded District and allowing the weepers to _'sort him out'_." The short man shook his head and grinned. "She might be a vixen, but I'm beginnin' ta like her style."

James was too, he was forced to admit. Maybe a bit more violent than his own way of doing things, but in the long run Lucretia Dent was not so very different.

"She's brushin' her hand across the headman's cheek now and standin' close ta him," Rollo continued. "I can't quite make out what she's sayin', but I'ma guessin' she's convincin' him ta do what she wanted- and yep! He's noddin'. Chuffer," he finished with a sneer. "Ulp, they're comin' back."

True to Rollo's words, the trio returned from the bedroom, and the courtesan left back the way she came.

"My apologies for the distraction," Lucretia said demurely. "Business matters."

"Anything we can help with?" James offered as he turned back to face her.

"No, but thank you." She smiled sweetly, but her gaze was fixed upon him, searching. "Now then, what is it you wish from me that was so important? Surely it was not merely to see my private rooms. I usually charge two-hundred-fifty Coin a night for that privilege."

"Two-fifty a night?" James returned, raising an eyebrow.

The smile vanished only to be replaced with a low scowl.

"You don't think I would be worth that amount, eh?" she asked in a clipped tone, her hand upon her hips.

He took a step forward, making sure to keep his gaze locked with hers.

"I only suggest that you sell yourself short," he said quietly. "From what I've seen so far, I'd be willing to offer two-fifty for a mere hour's worth of your attention. An entire night is something I doubt I could afford."

She blinked and her scowl vanished almost immediately. Her lips parted and her nostrils flared ever so slightly before a wry smirk worked its way across her features.

"Mr. James Dartley," she said lowly, "are you actually trying to seduce… _me_?" She threw her head back with a loud, earnest laugh before looking upon him again. "It was a good attempt, I'll grant you that."

"But you are correct," he continued on. "As interesting as your company would be, I need you for something else. I need to know who acted as the intermediary between yourself and the Merry Boyz."

His abrupt change of the conversation threw her off for a moment.

"Intermediary? Why do you need to know that? The Merry Boyz are already removed and can no longer provide the services I needed." Her eyes widened with comprehension. "But then you already knew of my connection with them, and now it leads me to question if the River Patrol didn't have some assistance with taking down Mr. Murlyn's little operation."

Ignoring her correct assumption, he pressed the matter. "I know you're partners with Stavros. He met with the intermediaries. He made the deals with them for you, a different girl each time, correct? I would like to know who these people are."

"You're information is as impressive as my own. Stavros does meet with them, and brings them the usual payment of Coin each time, but you are wrong on one account: they're not girls. They are men."

"I mean the girls of yours that you send away," James corrected her.

"My girls are free to go whenever they please," she said, crossing her arms and taking an indignant tone. "I only ask they obey the rules of the house while they stay here. I am not their master and do not hold them in shackles, as others might. I will interfere if they are disruptive, but nothing more."

"But your payment to the Merry Boys…?"

"A seasonal stipend of Coin and a percentage of available elixir, not that I can see how that matters in this case."

"And nothing else?"

"What else would there be?" she asked.

His brow furrowed. She wasn't stupid by any means and he had tried to avoid being too direct about the girls she offered the Merry Boyz, but it didn't seem like it was working. How else could she miss his obvious suggestion unless… unless…

His eyes widened as understanding dawned all too quickly.

"Oh no," he muttered to himself. "I've been the fool not to see this sooner."

She smiled, oblivious to his self-recrimination. "I know where these men reside and I will be willing to consider trading you this information should you do me a favor. That is how your contracts work, no?"

Collecting himself, he asked, "What task would you have us perform?"

"There is a small gang of thugs who I would like to see removed from an area just north of Kaldwin's Bridge. They are led by a man named Dickens. I can provide you with their exact location."

"What have they done?" he asked.

"At which time?" she retorted with a laugh. "I will not ask what you wish of the intermediaries and you will not ask why I want them gone. But rest assured, they are criminals, thieves, and brutes. Society will be better without them."

"Allow me time to investigate," he said. "If all is as you say, then we have a bargain."

"A week then?" she offered. "Do this, and you will have my consideration for the information."

He nodded in agreement.

"I will return when the task is complete, Madame Dent."

"And I shall be waiting here, Mr. James Dartley."

* * *

James led his companions back onto Rue Manor Lane, the dwelling of Lucretia Dent behind them. He scanned the area and noted that even in this well-maintained neighborhood, some of the more striking mansions were closed, their properties confiscated by the Lord Regent or the City Barrister. Two sat west of their current location and one was directly south.

"I didn't wish to say anything at the time," Tuddleston interrupted, his voice hushed so that only James could hear him. "But something seemed amiss at the end. You were going strong, then faltered. And suddenly you agreed to Madame Dent's terms rather quickly. What happened, if I may ask?"

James nodded.

"I remarked earlier about not having Vivianna's deductive abilities, and that was a bit too evident today." He turned to his friend. "She would have seen through it immediately, but it took my slower brain a while to piece together everything we learned from Lady Echkart, Adrienne, and now Lucretia Dent. I was lucky enough to buy the time needed at the very end of the deal."

"Buy time?" the scribe asked. "I admit I don't know what is going on. You mean the week she gave you?"

"Yes."

"To investigate this man Dickens before you deal with him?"

"I already know who Dickens is," James admitted. "I'll need to check his gang's strength, but he is a criminal, as she said. The week was for something else."

"And what would that be?"

James stopped and looked his friend in the eyes. "It's to give you time to arrange a break-in of Stavros's home, and secure some evidence."

The large man paled at this announcement. "I'm sorry what? Break-in? To someone's home? Me? Alone?"

"Not alone," James said as he clamped a firm hand upon his friend's shoulder. "The Tyvian is going to help you."

* * *

**A/N: With new information coming to light from the introduction of _Dishonored 2_, specifically Districts and other areas of Dunwall itself, I may have to retcon certain chapter headings of my Dishonored fics. This will in no way alter the story, however.**


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